


Pushing Daisies

by NotRyanRoss



Category: Bandom, Electric Century, Fall Out Boy, Gerard Way and the Hormones, Music RPF, My Chemical Romance, frnkiero andthe cellabration
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Florists, Gay, Hatred of Red Roses, Homosexuality, M/M, Pete Wentz Is Annoying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotRyanRoss/pseuds/NotRyanRoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How do I passive aggressively say 'fuck you' with flowers," Mikey Way asked. A florist AU where red roses are banned from conversation, and pink and khaki don't go together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N; I was listening to Heathens while i wrote this. Love that new suicide squad soundtrack.  
Enjoy.

###

"Why are people so fucking _boring_?"

Ray looked up from where he was rearranging the geraniums in the corner. Frank was sprawled out in a chair with his feet up on the counter and legs spread, like he was trying to be a pornstar. His feet were almost in the little bonsai they kept there, and as a few guys walked past the store Frank watched them avidly. Ray didn't want to be the one to tell him that he'd never be able to attract anyone in the dreadful uniform they were forced to wear. Salmon pink slacks, khaki polo shirt, black shoes. If anyone could look hot in it, it was Frank, but that didn't make it any less awful for Ray. Also, it wasn't like younger guys ever came into the store - it was called _Pansy's Picks_ , for God's sakes.

He didn't actually answer the question, because he didn't know what it was in referral to. But he could guess, because there was one pet peeve Frank had about the store.

"I mean," Frank continued, unperturbed, "can't we get an interesting fucking order for once? All these people want is their boring heterosexual flowers for their boring heterosexual life partner because they forgot their boring heterosexual anniversary."

"I like the red roses," Ray said. "They're not that bad."

"You're a disgrace, Toro," Frank replied flippantly. "Don't buy into it, that's what they want."

Ray turned back to look at the slightly wilted daisies. He'd need to change their watering amounts - usually if he left one of the other workers to do that, they overwatered. Maybe he'd put a sign up or something to remind them not to drown the plants. He didn't want anything to go to waste - flowers were important, both for people and for nature. Ray liked the flowers a lot - liked the solid tulips and the delicate bluebells and the simple daisies. Being offered the managerial position here had been a dream come true. Ray hadn't had amy aspirations in high school, hadn't been outstanding at anything but soundmixing and naming flower types. This job had been his saving grace, almost. He was actually here because he liked the flowers, unlike Frank.

After a year, Ray still wasn't entirely sure why Frank was here at all - before Ray had inherited the managering job for Pansy's, he'd been going up somewhere north to meet up with a band label who was interested in his YouTube channel. Because Frank thought, spoke, breathed music. He'd even made Ray install a sound system in the store, and Ray still didn't understand why he wasn't out doing things. Frank didn't really talk about it, and Ray was too nervous to ask in case something bad had happened. He couldn't tell if Frank was happy or unhappy with working here - he never complained about the job itself, did all the work he needed to and sometimes more, but Ray didn't think that Frank belonged here.

"Hello?"

A young girl approached Ray, one hand twirling in her blonde hair nervously. Ray offered her a smile and stood up, still holding a pot with a single bamboo shoot in it. Frank always complained about the weird plants they kept here, because this was supposed to be a _florist's_ , _dude_ , _not a jungle_. And it wasn't like people wanted to buy the cactus flowers. Ray kept the exotic plants anyway.

"Hi, welcome to the store. Can I help you with anything?"

The girl looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm looking for some flowers for my boyfriend... maybe some roses...?"

Ray didn't look at Frank as he nodded. "We have a nice range of yellow ones just in stock, would they interest you?"

"Do you have any... red ones?"

He could almost hear Frank's aggrieved sigh from the counter, but refused to look over there. "I'm sure we do, just give me a moment and I'll find some for you."

He wandered into the back of the store to where they kept the extra stock. The roses on display always got taken first, so this was an everyday routine, pretty much. He walked over to the large stock of red roses sitting in an unkempt heap - of course, he'd let Frank unpack it all again and this was what he got. Dammit. He let out a tiny sigh before rooting around for the nicest-looking ones, picked out three that were barely blooming yet. They looked nice, but something in the back of Ray's mind agreed with Frank, wanted someone to come in requesting something from the African plains or the mountain ranges in Europe. 

He sighed and returned back to the front of the store, where Frank was already ringing up the order. The girl was looking at him working with a blush still high on her cheeks, but Frank was ignoring her profusely. Ray found a nice piece of white ribbon and tied the flowers together, then handed them to Frank. He smiled at the girl again, who didn't smile back but glanced at Frank again. _Oh_. Well, maybe the uniform wasn't that much of a deterrant after all. Frank pulled out the little tabs to write someone's name on, stuck it to the ribbon efficiently, and slid the flowers across the counter to the girl.

"That'll be nine dollars," Frank said flatly.

"Um... oh! Yes, of course."

The girl gave him the change and Frank dropped it into the till. She paused for a few seconds, long enough that Ray was concerned and Frank actually managed to look over at her. She was shifting from foot to foot absently, eyes fixed on Frank's name badge. _It's not that nice of a badge_ , Ray thought absently. It was just one of those plain ones from Walmart with Frank's name in sharpie, it didn't warrant that much attention.

"...I don't suppose you'd...want to go out sometime...Frank?"

"Sorry, you're not my type," Frank said dryly.

"And... what is your type?"

"Fat cocks," Frank said without missing a beat.

The girl went bright red. "Oh God, I should've known, you work _here_..."

Frank looked like he was about to get up and throw her down in one of those illegal wrestling moves, so Ray intervened. "Thank you for shopping at Pansy's," he said cheerfully.

"Are you two fucking? Cute!"

Ray felt his cheeks catch on fire. This girl clearly had no perception of what was an appropriate question. This didn't seem to affect his co-worker, though.

Frank leaned forward, his eyes lit up dangerously. "Every day," he said. "You interested in a threesome?"

" _Frank_!"

"I was just fucking with her," Frank answered easily, leaning back in his chair. "Get out of here before I kick you out."

The girl got out fairly quickly.

Ray didn't stop blushing for an hour after that.

###

"I just wish it was more _interesting_ , you know," Frank whined.

He'd been working this job for a year, and it wasn't the worst job he'd ever done, but the customers were so _boring_. Red roses for my valentine, red roses for my crush who won't like me back, red roses for an anniversary gift for my wife who is probably allergic to anything else. It made a person like Frank Iero go quietly nuts. Or loudly nuts, whatever he felt like at the time. Frank hated the roses with a passion, and he hated the customers who bought them even more. He also hated the uniform they wore, the name of the store, and where it sat right next to the local university. The only things he didn't hate about _Pansy's Picks_ were the orange lilies (Ray had told him once they signified hatred) and Ray Toro himself.

Frank loved Ray Toro. Not in a gay way, even though Frank was at heart very gay indeed, and Ray was... probably not straight, even though he never talked about it. (Frank suspected, after that time they went to a club and he caught Ray eyeing a guy's crotch.) They'd been best friends since that time the assholes at school shoved Frank into his locker and Frank discovered music sheets. Ray had taught him half of what he knew on guitar - the man was a genius and a great teacher and Frank had no fucking idea why he liked hiding in this pokey little store instead of going out there and being a rockstar. Because Ray could do it, if he tried. Frank wished he'd play more often.

The point was, he loved Ray but he loved Ray not in a gay way, which rhymed and made him giggle out loud.

Ray glanced over and gave him that half-pitying, half-sympathetic look he always got when Frank complained about the store. At least Frank was still allowed to have his piercings in. One place he'd worked at had made him take them out every time he worked a shift and it had been fucking annoying. Frank knew Ray was just trying to manage everything properly. He did his best, really, and Frank got that, but it was so _hard_ to have the same thing, day in day out, when there were absolutely no interesting people in Belleville, New Jersey, none that were interested in a slightly decrepit florist store. Well, except for Ray. Who Frank loved but not in a gay way. Man,

"Can we change the uniforms, _please_ , Ray?" This was the thirty-second time he'd asked this.

"Do you have a design idea?"

"Do I look like a fucking artist to you?"

"No."

" _Ray_. Can't we just wear black?"

"No," Ray answered, just like he had the other thirty-one times Frank and he had had this exact same conversation. "Come up with something that is actually an idea, and I'll talk to the owner about it."

Frank let out a loud sigh and smacked his forehead against the counter. It hurt, but it didn't hurt enough that he could complain about it. Ray seemed unperturbed by the action (probably because his dramatics were usual), fiddling with a strangely coloured flower until it was facing the ceiling. Frank opened one eye and watched him wander around the store, watering some plants and spraying others with his homemade bug killer. Ray didn't even treat this place like a florist - it was more like he had a plant nursery that just happened to sell cheap flowers. But hey, each to their own, right?

The clink of the door opening had Frank raising his head. He wasn't usually excited by customers, but sometimes the odd eye candy would appear in front of him like a blessing. The guy that walked in was fairly hot, just the barest hint of stubble and bright, clear eyes. Frank imagined how the stubble would scrape on his own skin and started daydreaming about it. Mm, that'd be nice. He hadn't hooked up with anyone in ages, it fucking sucked. Let alone actually have a relationship, God forbid. It wasn't that he was unattractive, he just... couldn't find anyone he actually clicked with. It was hard being a gay guy with asshole tendencies around here.

He looked up as the guy approached him. Mm, _yes_. A solid eight out of ten. "Hi," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

The guy looked contemplative. "I'm looking for some red roses for my girlfriend...?"

Frank let his head thunk back down to the counter and ignored the man when he asked if Frank was okay. He heard Ray trying to run damage control as he lifted his head slowly and then let it fall back with a loud thunk. Fuck the entirety of his pitiful life. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

###

Ray looked over at Frank puzzledly, then down to the piece of lined paper on his lap. Ray had thought he was out the back, rearranging stock, but no. He was barely visible in the corner like this, and he looked almost like an elf. Not that Ray was going to tell Frank that. He was sitting in the corner of the room under the orchids, and a leaf from somewhere was sticking up out of his hair like it had grown there. Most concerning, though, was the scribbling mess on the paper Frank held. Was he actually... trying to _draw_ a new uniform? On lined paper, with a sharpie? Ray would commend his dedication, but the pictures weren't really...

"I'm not very good at drawing," Frank observed, looking down at the lopsided stick figures.

One looked like it had a carrot for a nose. The other had a cloud for hair, so Ray assumed it was supposed to be him. "No, you aren't," Ray agreed.

"What were you trying to draw?"

"A fucking uniform. A cool one," Frank muttered grumpily. He looked tired - they'd been unloading the new shipments all night, and Frank had insisted on coming to the store today instead of going home to sleep.

Ray sat down next to him and Frank leaned against him, hair tickling Ray's neck. He picked up the notepad and sharpie and relocated it to his own knee, flipping it over to a new page. Frank made a sleepy nose into his collarbone and Ray sighed, uncapping the pen as Frank fell asleep. He smelled kind of like apples, or at least his hair did, which was kind of strange to Ray because some part of his brain had expected Frank to smell like music. Which was weird, yeah, but it was Frank. Frank was weird anyway. It wouldn't have been a huge stretch of the imagination.

A buzz echoed in Ray's ears and he realised (surprise surprise) Frank had earbuds in. He picked one from Frank and settled it in his own ear, letting the heavy guitar lull him into thoughtful silence as he began drawing.

"You can't draw either," Frank mumbled.

"You drooled on my shirt," Ray retorted, although there was no venom in his voice.

Frank rubbed his face against Ray's shirt and sat up. Ray considered making him wash the shirt but decided he didn't really care. It wasn't like he enjoyed wearing this thing either. "We should hire someone to design that shit for us."

"It wasn't like we could make anything good with lined paper and a sharpie anyway," Ray said.

"Some people can," Frank said through a yawn.

"We're not artists."

"Which is why we need an artist. Ray, go find us an artist."

"I'm not paying an artist to design a uniform for us that might not even get approved."

Frank frowned. "Who said anything about paying? Go seduce one, Toro."

Ray felt himself blush. " _No_."

"Why not? They'd probably do it for free for a chance to touch _this_."

"Get your hands out of my hair!"

"Nope!"

Frank giggled into his hair cheerfully, practically on top of him by now with one knee in Ray's stomach and the other keeping balance. Ray didn't try to escape - Frank was a wriggly fucker and he'd immediately end up in a position about twenty times more uncomfortable than this one. Instead he patted Frank's tattooed bicep and tried to get them upright again. Of course, this was when a customer came into the store, to find the cashier straddling the manager and the manager going bright red with embarrassment.

"I'll - um, I'll come back later..."

Frank snorted loudly.

Ray shoved him onto the ground and stood up, and that was when his entire world shifted. Or, at least, someone else shifted the world. It was clearly an act of the Gods, because as he stood up to call back the slightly mollified young girl who'd disappeared down the street, he was smacked into by someone else walking into the shop at high speeds. Seriously, he should have a no running sign around.

He caught them automatically, then looked into slightly confused brown eyes and realised he was way too close to this guy. He backed up a few steps, still blushing (he couldn't help it, it just happened) and eyed the person standing by the door. Because they were kind of... well, hot. The first thing he noticed was the mess of dark hair contrasting with the white skin half-hidden under a grey beanie, then the piercing stare he was being given. Problem was, Ray had no idea what that stare actually meant. (And look at those legs, holy shit.) The guy had some sort of expression on his face, Ray just couldn't tell whether it was a 'oh my god you creep' stare or an 'I'm a serial killer and you're next' stare or even a 'I need red roses desperately' stare. He got the feeling he was staring too, but kind of blankly.

"How do I passive aggressively say 'fuck you' with flowers," Mikey Way asked, not realising he was changing everything with one little question.

###

Gerard Way didn't like Pete Wentz.

He'd made this obvious many times throughout the years his younger brother had dated the man. He'd complain every time he saw Wentz's shit-eating grin, would disappear into the basement whenever he came over their house, would whine to Mikey later that he was bad news. Quite reasonably, Mikey hadn't broken up with Pete just because Gerard didn't like him, but the problem was that Pete enjoyed poking fun at Mikey's older brother. Yeah, he could've lost a bit of weight in high school, but that shit was over and done with. Wentz didn't need to bring it up every time he saw Gerard. It was infuriating, and Gerard had to resist the urge to smash in his face at every opportunity.

And maybe he'd considered it a blessing that they'd never actually dated each other - for some reason they were happy to be friends with benefits forever - but this was ridiculous. Wentz had definitely crossed a line by explaining to Mikey in explicit detail how he was going to fuck the entire cheerleading squad. Including the coach. Seen as he hadn't been in high school for many years, this was even weirder than it would've been if they were. Mikey was largely unimpressed by this display, especially when Pete had also demanded Valentine's flowers from him. But hey, now they had an excuse to go in the flower shop and ogle the hot cashier.

"Uh..."

The guy with the curly hair seemed confused, looking at Mikey and then back at the cashier, who was staring wide-eyed at them. Gerard wondered if they knew how to make something like what Mikey wanted. This had been Elena's favourite place before...

"My man here sure can find you some of that," the cashier said finally, still on the ground.

"I... um... yeah," the other guy said. His nametag said _Ray_ on it in neat block letters. "Come to the back and I'll show you the stock we have?"

Mikey shrugged and glanced back at Gerard, who shrugged back. _You're going to be okay by yourself,_ Mikey communicated through an eyebrow twitch. Gerard nodded agreeably and Mikey turned back to Ray, let him lead him to the back of the store.

"You two are Godsent," the cashier groaned, flopping down onto his back.

"Thanks?"

"You're welcome," he said, hair curling over one eye messily. It was cute, in a punk sort of way, and Gerard could see the glint of a lip ring. _Hot_. He'd known about the guy from Elena, who had told him last year that he'd like what he saw. She hadn't been wrong - much like everything else, she was never wrong, and Gerard took a few absent steps towards him before offering his hand. The cashier let out the most ridiculous giggle he'd ever heard and took his hand, and Gerard helped him up. He overbalanced and nearly dropped them both on their asses but grabbed a bench just in time.

"I'm Frank," the cashier said.

"Gerard. That's my brother, Mikey."

"Ah, so you're the moral support," Frank chirped.

"I guess."

Gerard looked down and realised they were still holding hands, let go like he'd been burned. Frank seemed unaffected by the action, lifting himself up to sit on the bench. He knocked over a small pot with his hip, and watched it crash to the ground with his eyes bright and interested. They were interesting, sometimes hazel and sometimes green or gold in the light. And they were - staring at him. Oh. He'd been gazing at Frank for a while, hadn't he. Whoops. Frank didn't seem very upset that he was stuck with a total weirdo in his store.

"So," Frank said conversationally, "was it a girlfriend?"

"It was a guy," Gerard answered, wincing. Please don't let him be homophobic, please don't let him be homophobic-

"Finally," Frank said with an eyeroll. "Do you know how hard it is to find other gay people in this place?"

 _Other_ gay people? "Oh. You're - ?"

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna hit on your brother," Frank replied easily. "He's not my type. I like people with facial expressions."

"Hey," Gerard said. "Mikey _does_ have facial expressions."

"Sure."

"He _does_ ," Gerard insisted.

Frank giggled again and oh, that was unfairly cute. It should be illegal. He wasn't allowed to do that ever again or Gerard would probably have a severe heart attack or something. He looked for some sort of distraction, looked down and saw a crumpled slice of paper. When he reached down to pick it up, Frank laughed again. When Gerard looked down he saw... a mess? Part of it looked like a deformed sheep.

"What is this?"

"Uniform designs," Frank laughed.

Gerard looked at the pink and khaki ensemble Frank was clothed in. "I can understand why you'd want a new one."

"Mm. But we're not artists," Frank answered. "We can't even draw stick figures."

Gerard blinked down at the drawings. "Uh... it's got charm."

"It's crap. Worse than crap. I don't know where you see any charm in it."

"Art's different for everyone," Gerard reasoned. "I'm an artist, I should know."

"You're an artist?"

Frank's lips stretched in a grin.

Gerard felt a shiver down his spine.

###

Mikey remembered his grandmother as a woman with exquisite taste.

Elena was one of a kind, to both him and Gerard. She represented hope, in a way, something utterly different from everyone else. He remembered years and years of stories, the smell of cigarette smoke, ugly patterned scarves and strange flowers. He remembered Gerard sitting next to him, enraptured by Elena even more than he himself was. He hadn't even started drinking then. It was probably the simplest time in Mikey's life, sitting there happily amongst the flowers as Elena told them tales in a low, cheerful voice. The stories were always Mikey's favourite thing about going to Elena's, but the flowers were a very close second.

Elena bought a new flower every Thursday. Sometimes it would be a whole plant that she would continue to grow and nurture, sometimes they were just a single stalk to be dried later and preserved into a book. The best thing about Elena's flowers were their origin. She would never dream of buying daisies or tulips or anything mainstream, and Mikey loved as a child to point to a flower and ask 'where's he from?' And she'd say something like 'the Russian plains' or 'a special place in the Amazon forest.' And she'd tell him about her favourite flower shop, how they'd always manage to find all these exotic things and give her exact care instructions along the way.

Elena loved _Pansy's Picks_ , so Mikey did too.

"Um... so, can I ask what this is all about?"

Mikey glanced over at the guy currently rifling through the shelves of plants, looking for a passive agressive 'fuck you' bouquet. This had been the best idea he'd ever had, and the shop workers seemed somewhat excited about it. Elena had been right about the guy he assumed was the cashier - he was definitely Gerard's type. This one, though, he was interesting. He'd expected his request to be refused and then there was this guy, hair sticking all over the place and dirt on the side of his nose, finding flowers like it was his life work. Hell, it might be, Mikey didn't know.

"What kind of a person are they? The person this is for, I mean," the guy said.

"An asshole," Mikey answered simply.   
"Hm," the guy said thoughtfully, turning to rifle around in a box. He opened a book, flicked through it with concentration written all over his face, and then nodded, hummed again, and put it down. Mikey watched with absent interest. This guy was interesting - like, who would wear pink and khaki together without being a five year old girl or wanting to die?

"Okay, so I'm thinking and I have an idea," the guy said. "Meadowsweets mean 'uselessness,' -"

"We need that one then," Mikey cut in with the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

"- orange lilies for hatred, yellow carnations for 'you have disappointed me,' and geraniums for stupidity," the guy finished.

"Perfect. I think I'm in love with you," Mikey said drily.

The guy choked on air and went bright red. "I - um - er -"

"Calm down."

"I- I'm fine!" He didn't look fine, though.

Mikey blinked lazily and leaned against a shelf, watching as the guy spluttered and flailed his arms around. Wow. He clearly wasn't used to any kind of attention. It was kind of charming in a funny way. He looked past the shelves, saw a pile of red roses on the ground, and wrinkled his nose at them. Why were they on the ground like that? Like, they deserved to be there because they were _red roses_ , but why? The guy noticed and stopped flailing about, looked to see what he was making faces at.

"Do you... like red roses?" The question was hesitant, like he was worried about the answer.

"Can't stand them," Mikey said.

The guy positively beamed. Mikey was concerned he'd need glasses again after the brightness of that smile. It felt similar to when he'd touched an electrical cord once and it made his fingertips buzz and tingle.

"So, the flowers," Mikey reminded.

"Oh! Yes, um... we don't have any of the meadowsweets in stock, so... we can get them in a few days, it won't cost any extra," he said hurriedly.

Mikey didn't really care about the cost, but hey. Now he had a reason to come back here and talk to this guy more. If Elena had liked him, he must be okay. She'd mentioned the new manager, said his hair was a 'wonder that could only be seen with one's own eyes.' Mikey agreed with her wholeheartedly. He was resisting the urge to bury his hands in it as the guy wandered past him, back to the main part of the store. Mikey followed him and settled his elbows on the counter comfortably before glancing back to see what his brother was doing.

Gerard and the cashier were bent over something, heads nearly touching, talking in low, excited voices. Gerard's fluffy white hair was contrasting sharply against the guy's dark black hair. It was then Mikey noticed the smudge of eyeliner around the cashier's eyes and nearly burst out laughing. Nearly. Because wow, Elena had been completely right. It was a surprise they weren't fucking on the desk yet. That guy had just like, arrived from one of Gerard's wet dreams, probably. Mikey wondered what it was they were looking at.

"Okay, so... I'll need your name and phone number for the order," the guy said.

"Mikey," he said distractedly.

"I'm Ray," the guy - Ray - said.

Mikey hadn't actually asked him what his name was, but hey. Whatever. Now he didn't have to keep calling him 'the guy.' Ray slid a form and pen across the counter and Mikey signed it absently, looked down at the scribble of his name on the paper. He'd never get used to being an adult who actually had to _sign_ things. It was a wonderful novelty that had not worn off in the few years it had been since he'd reached adulthood.

"So... three days?"

"I'll be back," Mikey said, unnecessarily. 

He grabbed Gerard by the back of his jacket on his way and dragged him off.

###

"Hot," Frank said.

"I know," Ray whined, face buried in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Gerard glanced at the clock.

"The shop doesn't open for two more hours," Mikey said.

Gerard huffed. "That wasn't what I was -"

"Yes you were."

Gerard turned his disgruntled expression down to his coffee. Then he realised hey, coffee, there was no reason to be down. Yeah, so maybe he had been feeling kind of impatient.  For all three days he'd been doodling shirt designs (accidentally) and maybe he had an entire sketchbook full of ideas to present to the guys at _Pansy's Picks_. He wondered if Frank would like the one with the black and yellow shirt. It had originally been a superhero costume for a man named Fun Ghoul, who kind of reminded Gerard of Frank. He wondered if Frank would even appreciate his help at all. Maybe he was just being presumptuous. Maybe he should throw all the designs away.

"You're mooning at your coffee again," Mikey commented.

Gerard slumped down in his seat. "No I'm not," he muttered.

"Sure," came the dry reply.

"I saw you looking at the other guy," Gerard accused.

"So?" Mikey barely batted an eyelid.

"So... you're a hypocrite!"

"No I'm not."

Gerard huffed and flicked over to another page in his sketchbook. Pen in hand, he started doodling again, until the formless lines started to shape into a human being - goddamnit, he'd drawn Frank. This was getting creepy. He was being a total creep, Frank would never want to see him again if he knew Gerard was drawing him. Why could he just act normal for one day? _Honestly_. He used his free hand to cover his face, other hand still drawing idly. Mikey didn't say anything, the crackle of a bag of chips being opened the only indication he was even here. Gerard closed his eyes, tried to block out any thoughts that included tattooed hot guys from the florists.

But what if they wore _bulletproof vests and ties_ -

No.

Gerard groaned into his palm, let his face fall down to hit the table with a thump. Mikey didn't say anything, but there was a distinct aura of amusement from his side of the table. He dropped the pen, sighed and let his fingers fall flat next to his face. Imagined what they'd look like all covered in tattoos like Frank's. He wouldn't last a minute in the tattoo parlour but he could daydream about it. Maybe he'd just draw art on himself with a marker; that was just as good as tattoos, if not better because you could make a new design every day. Drawing on yourself was fun, anyway, more fun than _needles_. Brr. He resisted the urge to shiver at the thought.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Tattoos," Gerard answered.

Mikey snorted.

"They're pretty," Gerard said defensively.

" _He's_ pretty," Mikey replied.

Gerard let out a long sigh. "He really is. Jesus, I'm a creeper. What would Elena say?"

"She was trying to get you in the store last year to set you two up," Mikey said with a raised eyebrow.

" _He was born on Halloween," Elema said, eyes gleaming._

_"He's probably fifty," Gerard whined._

_"Nonsense. He's younger than Mikey."_

_Gerard looked over at Mikey, typing something on his phone. He was probably sexting his latest boyfriend or something. Ignoring Gerard's dilemma - because the last time he'd hooked up with someone that someone had nearly got him killed. They didn't talk about Bert McCracken, ever. His name didn't even get mentioned in Elena's house, it was taboo. She'd hated him with a passion, and probably for good reason. But with sobriety had come loneliness, and Gerard had spent most of the year either alone or with his grandmother and brother. His parents labelled it as 'unhealthy,' but he just wasn't ready to face the world just yet. Elena understood that in a way no one else did._

_But she still tried to get him to meet people, one at a time, and Gerard appreciated that. He glanced at the odd bamboo shot Elena had bought, sighed._

_"Give me a few months and I promise I'll go," Gerard compromised._

_Elena clapped._

"She never got to introduce me to him," Gerard murmured.

"In a way, she still did introduce you two," Mikey reasoned.

"I guess."

Gerard got the distinct feeling that Elena was out there somewhere, laughing at him. And maybe asking him to get her another flower for her grave. They'd put all her beloved plants and flowers there, but someone had moved them in the night. It had upset Mikey the most, when it had happened. Gerard considered getting some replacements. Maybe he'd be able to find something at the florist's when they went. That guy with the frankly glorious hair could help. Gerard drummed his fingers on the table to the rhythm in his head and glanced at the clock again. Only a few minutes had passed after he'd last looked.

He turned his eyes to Mikey, who was staring off into space, dark eyes glassy. It was impossible to tell what he was actually thinking - could've been the weather, or the latest Batman issue, or even that guy from _Pansy's_. Gerard didn't know. Mikey himself probably didn't know. He'd just spaced. Gerard watched as Mikey brought the coffee to his mouth automatically, drank half of it in one go.

"Why don't we go to the comic book store before we go to the florist's," Gerard offered finally. At least they wouldn't be sitting there, waiting for two hours.

Mikey blinked. "Yeah, okay. I'll get the car keys."

"I'm not letting you drive," Gerard countered.

"Gee, that was _years_ ago. When I didn't even have my license."

"I got in the car with you last week and you nearly drove into an old woman!"

"I don't know how she got there, she fucking - teleported or some shit."

"Sure. _Sure_ , Mikey."

"Just give me the keys, asshole."

###

When Ray got to the store Frank was already there.

Frank looked up, eyes green in the morning light, and grinned at him in greeting. He looked absolutely freezing, scarf covering half his face and nose bright red. Ray almost felt himself getting sick just looking at Frank, but knowing him, he was just fine. Frank was snuggled up against the door of the shop, small enough that he was protected from the wind by the heavy frame. Even Ray, in his heavy jacket and boots, started feeling cold looking at Frank. In a few minutes he might have started growing frost or something equally peculiar. He hoped like hell Frank wasn't going to catch another bout of pneumonia, because then he'd have to start seriously looking for another worker.

And he liked his little space, with just him and Frank. It would be weird trying to add another person to that. Ray wasn't into cliques or anything like that but... yeah, this was their little club, and someone joining would probably feel really left out. Their friendship had eclipsed what sparse relationships they'd had over the years, one girl breaking up with Ray because she was convinced he and Frank were dating on the side. And that wasn't fair. Frank and Ray were Frank and Ray and that's just how it was. Frank and Ray were inseparable and completely platonic even though they loved each other to the ends of the earth and back.

So Frank had better not be sick.

He blinked up at Ray cheerfully.

"It's five in the morning," Ray said.

"Yep," Frank agreed.

"...why are you here?"

"I thought you'd come early to do up that guy's flowers. I wanted to help," and wow. Because Frank was never interested in helping with bouquets. Ray watched as he stood up and wobbled dangerously before bouncing on the balls of his feet. That was far too much energy for five in the morning, even if the person in question was Frank Iero.

"You don't like bouquets."

"I like passive aggressive fuck you bouquets," Frank corrected.

"Oh."

"Now unlock the fucking door, Jesus, my dick is becoming ingrown, it's that cold."

Ray wrinkled his nose, but unlocked the door without any sort of argument. Creepy metaphors aside, he was right; it was fucking cold for Jersey. He didn't know what was going on with the weather lately. Frank was convinced there were angry weather gods - Ray just suggested that perhaps it was, in fact, global warming. Either way, the heater was being put on high. Frank wriggled past him into the shop and immediately started taking off half his layers. Of course, because he was wearing like fifty, he still had twenty five layers left. Ray didn't even know how Frank could walk with the amount of clothes he piled on in the winter.

Frank bounded over to where the new shipments were held, throwing one of maybe ten scarves aside (He looked kind of like that Ross guy that worked at Starbucks with all that neckwear). There were a few new boxes, taped in bright, obnoxious orange with 'FRAGILE' stamped on the top. One was listing to the side, nearly falling, and Ray grabbed it. Frank gave him a bemused look but took off his gloves and began the long task of unwrapping the plants from their storage containers. He rustled around, gently pulling a flower out and inspecting it curiously. Ray held onto the box in his hands.

"What's this one mean, Toro?"

"Foxgloves," Ray answered automatically. "Insincerity."

"Nice," Frank said appreciatively, placing it aside.

Ray removed the daisies and set them on a shelf. They had a few minutes of quietly stacking, flowers and plants and shoots. Frank put music on his phone and time drifted away into a haze of Metallica and begonias. Ray tapped his right hand along with the guitar and when he looked up at Frank standing by the register he realised they were in perfect time. Frank's eyes were hazy and far away - Ray imagined him onstage, screaming and thrashing and throwing himself around like the music was possessing him. It almost hurt physically, to see him here in that godawful uniform, with his mind still miles away and his guitar collecting dust. He shouldn't be here, sorting flowers at five in the morning. It wasn't right.

For the hundredth time, Ray wondered why Frank was here.

He wondered if _Frank_ knew why Frank was here.

"So," Frank said, out of nowhere, breaking Ray out of his reverie. "Gerard's an artist."

"...Gerard?"

"The brother of the 'fuck you bouquet' guy. It happened like two days ago, your memory isn't that bad."

"His name's Mikey."

" _Ooh_. Raymond Toro, you dog."

"I'm not hitting on the customers, Frank," Ray said, feeling his cheeks heat up. Frank smirked at him, one of those extremely unsettling predatory looks he had, and Ray frowned at him. It was so unprofessional to hit on the customers, and it was creepy as fuck too. He wouldn't stop Frank from doing it on the rare occasion, but. So what if he was still blushing. So what if the guy buying flowers was hot and so what if he didn't like red roses. It wasn't like he was going to _do_ anything about it. He'd been attracted to plenty of people before and had done nothing at all about it. It was just a fact of life.

"Here's the meadowsweets," Frank said, setting the plants in front of him, ready for the bouquet. "And Ray, for the record?"

"Hm?"

"It's totally okay to hit on a person who isn't buying any stuff. And it's also totally okay to trap said person and make them design a new uniform, if said person is an artist."

Ray sighed.

###

Mikey and Gerard entered the store ten minutes after it officially opened, with Gerard balancing a ridiculously large coffee in his hands and Mikey typing on his phone.

[1] New Message: **Pete**

 **Pete** : hey babe u coming over???

"Hey, welcome to Pa- _oh_ , it's you two!"

Mikey looked up, forgetting to reply to Pete's text as he and Gerard were grabbed unceremoniously and squashed into a hug. His nose was smushed into Gerard's cheek and there were flailing hands way too close to his crotch. Gerard smelled kind of like hair product - had he showered before they'd came? Oh my _god_ , he really was hot for this cashier guy. Wow. A giggle that sounded suspiciously like its owner had ingested forty pounds of weed sounded, and then he was released from the tight grip. Mikey blinked down at the culprit, who was of course, the guy called Frank. Were cashiers supposed to hug customers like they were old friends?

He looked immensely pleased with himself, before pointing to the back storage and bouncing off. Mikey turned to raise an eyebrow at Gerard silently, who was flushed and startled-looking. He didn't smirk at his brother, exactly, but the message was still received. Gerard looked away, his fingers brushing the tiny sketchpad he'd hidden in his pocket. Mikey rolled his eyes visibly and began to follow Frank to the back room, Gerard's footsteps echoing behind him after a few moments. Ray was behind a large clump of trees  - you could only tell because his hair was a different colour from the shrubbery.

"Hey," Mikey greeted.

"Hi," Ray said. "Your... your flowers are nearly ready."

"Cool."

"Hey, Gerard, come over here, I wanna show you something," Frank said.

"Uh..."

Mikey nudged Gerard's knee with his boot once he realised Gerard wasn't going to make a coherent sentence. His brother made a face much like a startled fish, until Mikey nudged him again and he nearly fell on the floor. Whoops. Maybe he was just too shy to deal with this. But no, he'd be fine. Mikey poked him for the third time and he finally moved, stumbling towards Frank.

"I don't bite," Frank chirped. "At least, not if you don't want."

"Uh, I- okay."

Mikey watched them disappear behind a shelf painted a truly hideous shade of orange, Gerard's voice rising a few octaves as Frank commented on something breezily. Then he turned back to Ray, who was still half-hidden by plants. He walked in a wide circle around them and is greeted with the site of Ray absolutely _surrounded_ by flowers. There was some between his knees, one in his shirt pocket, and even one in his hair, tucked behind his ear. He looked like some sort of elf, or a flower god or something. The weird thing was, it suited him. As he turned to look at Mikey a petal fell out of his hair and fell to the ground slowly.

Mikey felt his lips curve into a smile.

"...what?"

Ray was looking at him questioningly.

"It's nothing," Mikey said, leaning against the counter. "You worked here long?"

"Few years," Ray answered, going back to moving stalks around.

"You ever meet a woman called Elena?"

Ray's eyes lit up. "Yeah! I handled all her orders personally - she was my favourite customer. She wasn't the same as everyone else, you know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Are you a friend of  hers?"

"I'm her grandson."

"Oh," Ray said, with a thoughtful expression. "What happened, anyway? Did she get too sick to make it to the store every month? She said that might happen."

"She's dead," Mikey said.

Ray looked positively horrified. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"It's fine. Shit happens."

It wasn't really fine, but it didn't make his chest squeeze quite so hard anymore. Gerard still got this look on his face when someone mentioned her, an expression that made Mikey hurt as well. But if he was by himself and someone offered their condolences or told him their stories and idle memories about Elena he could bear it. Some of the stories were still in a dusty shelf in his mind - stories about schools and rebellion and music. There was something wonderful about the fact she'd managed to make such an impact even though she wasn't here physically anymore.

"I'm sorry," Ray repeated, softer, eyes sad.

"It sucks, but like I said, shit happens," Mikey answered, looking at the wall.

There was a long, tense silence, Ray staring off into space like his thoughts were flies trapped him in a web. Mikey had no idea what he was actually thinking, which was new and unsettling as hell. Ray's face had a lot of emotion in it but it wasn't readable at all, like his facial features were in Mandarin Chinese. Usually people complained that they couldn't read him. Having the situation reversed was strange and new and he wasn't entirely sure he hated it.

"So, we got in some foxgloves as well, which signify insincerity," Ray finally spoke, looking back at him. "Want me to add them in?"

"Sure. I mean, it's a passive aggressive 'fuck you' bouquet. May as well pile in as many insulting flowers as I can get."

Ray smiled (fucking _beamed_ , all sunlight and rainbows and puppies), and Mikey gritted his teeth because his heart was _not_ skipping a beat because a guy smiled at him. It wasn't happening. He was breaking up with Pete and then he was staying single for the rest of his life to become a crazy cat man. That was a way better life plan than crushing on this guy, with his damn sunshine smile and flowers in his hair.

It wasn't happening.

###

"What did you want to show me?"

"I drew something," Frank said cheerfully.

Gerard gave him a very doubtful look.

"You haven't seen it yet, stop making that face!"

"Fine. Show me."

Frank grinned, the expression similar to something a shark might give you before it ate you for dinner. And then he pulled out a watercolour. Who the hell had decided giving him watercolours was clearly insane, along with Frank himself. Because  this was a true atrocity. It made Gerard's eyes burn. How could one person create something this terrible? He felt like he was looking at a visual interpretation of someone tripping on acid, cocaine and heroin all at once. Did Frank have any notion of depth within shades and hues? Jesus Christ. He was going to set that piece of paper (and himself) on fire.

"What do you think?"

"It's good, Frank," Gerard said wearily.

"Cool!"

Yeah, lying had been the right choice for him to go through with. He was sure Frank was going to start sparkling at any moment, he looked that happy. He cared that much about the opinion of a guy he'd met a few days ago? It was ridiculous how cute he actually was, eyes bright and smile even brighter. Jesus. He knew then that he was well and truly fucked. He couldn't say anything bad about Frank's drawing. Gerard handed back the picture and offered him a smile that was probably more a grimace. It was then he realised that smear of colours was probably yet another uniform design for the shop. Oh.

"Actually, I had some ideas..." Gerard offered.

"You did?"

"Um, yeah..."

Gerard nearly fell into a shelf of begonias with the force of Frank's hug. "Jesus," he choked out.

Frank smelled like flowers and apple, unsurprisingly. "Show me," he demanded.

Frank didn't let go of him for even a second and Gerard was forced to flounder around desperately to get his tiny sketchpad. He pulled it out after a few minutes of flailing, holding it aloft triumphantly. Frank immediately snatched it from his grasp and started flipping through the pages neatly. He paused at an old picture of Mikey, glasses perched on the end of his nose with a pencil in his fingers. At the time, Mikey had been sketching himself, and Gerard had made him redraw Batman on his picture for authenticity. It was a personal favourite of Gerard's, because it was so casual. Half of his drawings at the time had been professional pieces for SVA, restricted and uncomfortable, but this wasn't one of them.

"This is good," Frank said, sounding like he was in awe.

"Yeah?"

"Totally!"

Frank flipped another page and there was the drawing of the cashier himself, in a black shirt with a design stylized to look like a dark red tie. The shading was done extremely gently, barely there but still noticeable. He'd made Frank's hair a little different, left the sides shorter and more faux-hawk, and made them red to match the shirt. Gerard had sketched him sitting on the front counter of _Pansy's Picks_ , ankles crossed and grinning lazily at something to the left. There was the impression of flowers in the background, but the focus was on the detail of Frank's face and the curls of the design. The pants were just plain black, leaving all the emphasis for the shirt.

"That's hot as fuck," Frank said, eyes wide.

He looked up at Gerard and Gerard, of course, flailed. "There - um, it's only a draft!"

Frank's eyes got bigger. "You mean you could make something _better_ than this?"

"That took five minutes," Gerard replied, a little anxious. "Of course I could."

"Fucking amazing," Frank said, sounding a little breathless.

"Is black okay?"

"Fuck yeah it is," came the cheerful reply. "Anything is better than khaki and pink."

Gerard winced at Frank's uniform. "Yeah."

"I don't know what the guidelines for the uniforms are," Frank said. "I think we're supposed to make it simple."

"I can do simple," Gerard offered.

Frank looked up at him, face oddly serious. It was weird because he'd been all bravado and imvasive of personal space, and now he was just looking at Gerard. Like he was... taking him in, or something. Just looking. It made Gerard feel like there were tiny birds flapping around in his stomach and he swallowed past nervously and smiled weakly. Frank looked all fucking... _earnest_ , and _intent_ , and like he was absorbing Gerard with his eyes alone. He'd gotten closer without Gerard noticing, really close, close enough that if he leaned forward their lips would probably connect-

"Did you die with your eyes open?" Frank queried, looking slightly concerned.

"No," Gerard said weakly. "I'm fine."

"Cool," Frank said. "So, can I help you design something awesome? Not that you need my help."

"I - uh. Sure?"

"Enthusiastic," Frank's smile faltered a little, and Gerard's heart was in his mouth.

"No! No, that sounds great. I'd love to."

"Okay. I'll write my phone number down," Frank said cheerfully. "Maybe we can meet up for coffee or something."

"Yeah," Gerard answered. "I don't have a social life, so."

"That's okay," Frank said, smile firmly back on his face. "I can help you with that in return for the uniform designs."

"I don't need help," Gerard argued. "I just don't -"

"Nonsense," Frank said cheerfully. "Let me do this or I'll come up with another way to thank you."

Frank's expression was completely innocent but that didn't stop Gerard from imagining things he shouldn't be. And from blushing as hard as was physically possible. He spluttered and turned away from Frank, who was giggling at him. Goddamn that man and his face, and his laugh, and his fucking... flowers.

"So, how do you feel about Friday?"

###

"You want ribbons on it?"

Mikey looked bemused.

"They're on special," Ray offered, holding up some red lace.

"Sure. Pete'll love it."

Oh. "Your... boyfriend?"

"Because everyone gives their boyfriends passive aggressive fuck you bouquets," Mikey replied.

"Fuck - I'm sorry, that was stupid. Really stupid. Ugh."

He was just digging his grave deeper and deeper, had been since Mikey had entered the store. Ray could bet himself ten bucks there was something weird glued in his hair, and he kept tucking stray flowers into every pocket he had. He probably looked like a total weirdo. Not to mention the comments about Elena - fucking hell, he'd known something had been up. She loved visiting Pamsy's Picks, even brought him a latte on some days. He'd always pull out a chair and she'd perch on it, elegant as ever, and start talking about something or other. Sometimes she'd talk about the weather, sometimes she'd ask him specifically about the flower he was pruning/watering/fertilizing. Ray always answered her, happy enough to have her company even though the manager at the time hadn't liked her.

They'd met when he was just the old manager's toy, working ridiculous amounts of overtime to please the woman. Of course, when they found out she'd been taking most of his pay and stealing from the register to boot, she was fired. On the day it happened, Ray had been told "you're up, kid" and that had been that. Elena had come in when he had still been staring disbelievingly at the open door, _Manager_ badge on the counter. Of course, Elena had taken one look and laughed at him, then told him she wanted a plant from the Himalayas.

"Ray?"

Getting a plant from the Himalayas had been surprisingly easy, once he got in touch with the plant nursery close by. And then Elena had happily picked up her new plant, telling him about all the contraptions she'd set up to assure that its environment would be one it could grow in. Ray had been impressed. More than impressed. Elena was just one of a kind.

" _Ray_."

His voice sounded nice on Mikey's - oh, wait, he'd been spacing out again. Fuck.

"Yeah, uh. Sorry."

"You okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sorry," Ray apologised. "Just... remembering things."

He added another lily on a spot that was mostly foxgloves and stared at the flowers contemplatively. It was looking pretty good, kind of firey and definitely 'passive agressive fuck you.' Mikey shifted a little, and out of the corner of his eye Ray could see him looking over at where Gerard and Frank had gone. Ray honestly didn't want to know.

"So what kind of price are we looking at for this?"

Ray pursed his lip. "Well, there were a few orders we had to do, but they were simple... maybe twenty bucks?"

Mikey looked amused.

"What?"

"Anywhere else, this stuff would be like eighty dollars," Mikey answered.

"Well, we have a special deal with other stores all over the world so it means that - shit, I'm sorry, you probably don't care."

"Nah, it's interesting," Mikey replied.

"Oh." Ray felt his cheeks heat up - _dammit_ , not again - as he smiled at Mikey. Mikey actually smiled back at him, looking kind of awkward but it was nice. It was cute.

"What do you think?"

Mikey looked at the bouquet, which was damn incredible, if Ray said so himself. It was a work of art. He really couldn't comprehend why people would want their shitty red roses when you could have something fun, something with personality. Something that said fuck you in a truly passive aggressive way. This bouquet was Godsent. He needed to take a picture of it. He needed to frame the picture of it and hang it up somewhere where everyone could see it.

"Holy shit, Ray, you've outdone yourself," Frank said, appearing from nowhere and attaching himself to Ray's back.

"That's really good," Gerard said.

"It's awesome," Mikey added.

"Alright," Ray said. "Thanks. Um... to the counter?"

He picked up the flowers gently, like they were the most precious items on Earth, Frank still on his back. Despite his size, Frank was a pain in the ass to carry because he wriggled. He genuinely couldn't stop moving. Ray used his elbow to shift Frank's foot higher on his ribs and began carrying the flowers out of the back, Mikey and Gerard following. Frank laughed and stuck his finger in Ray's ear. 

"Alright... so that'll be twenty dollars," Ray said, punching a few buttons on the register.

He thought for a second, then decided to make an offer. "If you'd like to use Elena's account, you can get a discount," he said cautiously. 

"Sure," Mikey replied after a beat.

Ray clicked onto the account with her name printed on it neatly in Times New Roman, stating she'd made over one hundred purchases. Mikey pulled out his wallet, but Ray paused at the data on the screen in front of him. What? How could he have missed this before?

"There's... another order," Ray said.

"What? On Elena's account?"

"This is impossible."

"What kind of order is it?"

Gerard shuffled around the counter to look at the screen as well, eyes wide and round in his pale face. He read the details and looked at Mikey, something close to panic on his face.

"Mikes, this was ordered the day she..."

"What the fuck?"

"I don't remember her ordering this," Ray said. "It doesn't even tell me what the item is - it just has a barcode."

There was a long, tense silence.

"Let's order it in," Frank said.

"What?"

"You know what, yeah. Put the order through," Mikey answered, pulling out a twenty dollar note and slipping in onto the counter. "We'll take it."

"...are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Mikey replied with a shrug. "I want to know what it is. And how the fuck the order got there in the first place."

"...okay," Ray said. "I'll call you when it goes through?"

"Cool," Mikey said, reaching over to scoop up the bouquet.

"I didn't put the discount-"

"It's cool," Mikey said. "Keep the change."

Ray started blushing for no apparent reason. Frank giggled.

"See you guys later?"

"Yeah," Mikey said.

"Gerard, I'll see you on Friday," Frank said cheerfully.

Gerard gave him a tiny wave, and then they were gone again. Ray stared at the computer screen uncomprehendingly.

"How the hell did she order that?"

"Ghosts," Frank said seriously.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I love Pete Wentz.

Also I'm so sorry for the wait. 

###

[1] New Message - **Pete**

**Pete** : yo mikey want to netflix and chill??

Mikey, to be completely honest, would rather stick his face in a vat of boiling honey than have sex with Pete Wentz again. Even the promise of Netflix didn't make it any more appealing. While, unlike some people, Pete washed more than once a month, he was incredibly pushy and it was annoying. Like, couldn't Mikey have one hour of peace and quiet catching up on the new Star Wars movie without someone sticking their hand down his pants? There was a reason he spent most of his time with Gerard.  Gerard certainly didn't want to stick his hand down Mikey's pants, thankfully. There were few things in the world he was grateful for, but his brother's lack of incestuous tendencies was one of them.

He glanced at the bouquet Ray had made. Ray, who was the polar opposite of Pete's obnoxiously loud personality. He was pretty sure Ray didn't even know what Netflix and chill _was_. Maybe he'd ask next time he saw the fluffy-haired florist. Maybe Ray _did_ know what it was, and he'd blush again. Mikey liked watching him blush. It was cute. Pete had his dick all over the internet and even that hadn't made _him_ blush. Ray would probably die of embarrassment if that happened to him. It's okay. Mikey could comfort him.

"Are you thinking about Ray?"

"Fuck off," Mikey replied.

Gerard looked largely unimpressed, fiddling with his fringe. It was such a contrast from his old hair, the greasy shoulder-length black curtain he used to hide behind. Mikey was glad he'd cut it, in a roundabout way. It was like his eye surgery for Gerard - kind of odd to get used to, but okay. He blinked over his cereal at Gerard, who continued to fiddle with his hair. Was he trying to make a shape or something?

"Does my hair look okay?"

"It looks like you're the reject Swan Queen."

His brother looked panicked. "Is that bad? That's bad, right?"

"Nope, same as usual. Oh yeah," Mikey realised, "it's your date with Frank today, isn't it?"

"I am helping him design a uniform in a _professional manner_ ," Gerard said stiffly.

Mikey snorted. When his brother continued to stare at him in indignant silence, he ate a spoonful of the Cheerios and began chewing slowly. Gerard cracked almost immediately.

"No, seriously, do I look okay?"

Mikey sighed. "Come here."

Gerard drew closer, looking suspicious, and when he got close enough Mikey yanked on his shirt and pulled him even closer. Gerard yelped at the sharp tug and Mikey leaned up to smudge his eyeliner evenly. Much better. It was still subtle enough that no one would notice unless they were close to him, but it had enough of an effect that his irises contrasted a lot more. He looked pretty good. Much better than Pete Wentz ever could. He considered what Ray might look like in eyeliner. Hot. Mikey straightened Gerard's shirt collar and nodded to himself thoughtfully.

"Now you look fine."

"Thanks, Mikes."

"Buy me more cereal while you're out."

"But it's your turn to buy food," Gerard whined.

Mikey raised an eyebrow.

"Ugh, fine."

"Love you."

"Love you too, asshole."

The door clicked shut quietly and Mikey looked at the bouquet again. It was really nice. Almost too nice for Pete - but the value of the joke rested on the implementation of the flower-gifting, so he couldn't just keep it. Although he might order more to put everywhere. Passive-aggressive fuck you flowers for everyone. What a nice idea. He could take them to that murderer's funeral. Or to that old lady next door that gave him food that was out of date (he'd thrown up for days). Maybe he could give one to that kid that kept trying to hit on him at the coffeeshop, although knowing the poor sap, he'd think it was a legitimate gift. Mikey wasn't that much of a dick.

He was, however, enough of a dick to give this bouquet to Pete. The only question was how. Maybe he should mail it. Make it less personal, write a note saying 'Google the meanings :).' Or he could take a picture of them, send it to Pete, and keep the real flowers himself. Nah, giving it to him personally was totally the way to go. And Mikey could make sure he googled the meanings then. And he'd get to watch the expression on Pete's face when he realised Mikey wasn't going to be sleeping with him anymore. He was done with the whole 'friends with benefits' bullshit. He didn't need sex in a relationship for it to be good.

And yeah, maybe he was tired of being alone. Wasn't everyone?

_Alright_ , he thought to himself. _This is it_. _Grab those flowers, and let's go._

He grabbed his phone on the way out, tucked it into his jacket pocket and left it on vibrate. Maybe he'd see what Ray was doing after he finished up with Pete. They could try and find out what was going on with that ghost order or something. He could take coffee. To be honest, Mikey didn't care how it had showed up, he was just interested in what the plant itself was. He had a weird feeling in his stomach that told him it was going to be a big one. He didn't really think that Elena's ghost had made the order, but something about the way all this had happened made it seem significant, somehow. Like the plant was going to be something important.

He locked the door behind him quietly and started walking to Pete's, bouquet in hand.

###

Frank did not like Ray Toro at the moment. He did not like Ray Toro even one little bit. He sat in the coffeeshop and tried to look as displeased as possible, which was pointless because Ray Toro (who he did not like) wasn't here.

To: **Ray**

**Frank** : i dont like u

He didn't like Ray Toro because Ray Toro had banned him from working on the weekend. What a load of shit.

The coffeeshop, an old place that smelled like freshly ground beans and vanilla, was Frank's favourite. They never had many customers, being located in a dark alleyway and run by a guy with cheek piercings. It was a good place, though, friendly, with damn good coffee. Frank was ome of their regulars, so much so that he didn't even need to order anymore. They played loud music here, something obscure and psychedelic that still managed to sound inviting. Sometimes Frank would borrow some of their vinyls and trade off with the manager, who appreciated Frank's  own collection. It was a nice relationship he had.

Speaking of relationships, he had a date with Gerard now. A _date_! Well, technically they were supposed to be designing a uniform, but Frank wasn't going to just waste this opportunity. Hopefully his wayward artist wouldn't get lost trying to find this place. Frank accepted a free refill from the barista and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the slightly stained ceiling. He totally wasn't thinking about kissing Gerard. Not at all. He wasn't imagining Gerard pulling Frank's hair, or whimpering when Frank bit his lip. Nope, not at all. Not even a little bit.

"...uh, I'll have a vanilla latte? Yeah, thanks."

"Three dollars, my man."

"Okay, here you go, um."

"I'll bring it over in a minute, kay?"

Frank blinked over at Gerard and then smiled at him, inwardly laughing. He'd forgotten how unbelievably _pretty_ Gerard was. It was unique, the kind of pretty that wasn't really definable as purely masculine or feminine, somewhere in-between that was both and neither. It was hot, and really interesting to boot. Frank wasn't going to deny it, he found Gerard extremely damn attractive. But then again, who wouldn't, with the way he looked? And was that motherfucking _eyeliner_? Jesus Christ, he was going to die right here, right now. Gerard Way was going to kill him.

"Hi," Gerard himself said awkwardly.

"Hey," Frank greeted, doing his best to sound nonchalant and not at all like he'd been ogling Gerard. "You didn't get lost."

"Nope," came the reply as the artist sat down opposite him. "I nearly walked past, but then I saw the sign."

"It's a pretty well hidden place."

"Is it like, a secret club or something?"

Gerard looked so excited that Frank was kind of sad to crush his dreams. "Nah, just a coffeeshop."

"Oh."

"It's still pretty good, though."

"Yeah?"

"Totally. They have karaoke nights and they play all this really cool grunge stuff."

Gerard gave him a crooked smile. "That's cool."

"Yeah, it is."

The barista brought Gerard's latte over then, set it down gently in front of the artist. She then checked Frank's cup, filled it up again, winked at them, and left. Frank snorted, and Gerard just looked bewildered. It probably was a little bewildering - your average Starbucks didn't have flirty tattooed waitresses in extremely short plaid skirts. But, Lyn-Z did what she wanted, after all. Gerard glanced over at her sort of nervously and she winked at him again from behind the bar. The artist settled a little bit after that, probably realising no one was going to mug him or anything. Not that any mugger would have a chance. Frank would beat their eyes out of the sockets before they laid a hand on Gerard.

"So, um, the art?"

"Oh yeah! Do you have any more ideas?"

"Well, I mean, I had some ideas but they didn't work for me."

"Ooh, let me see."

Gerard pulled out a sketchbook (where he'd been keeping it, Frank didn't know) and flipped it open. His hands moved so fast that Frank only got to catch a glimpse of a few sketches - Doom Patrol, what looked like The Misfits, a superhero in tight white pants with red hair - until Gerard found what he was looking for. Frank tried to lean over the table but it was far too uncomfortable, so he was forced to wait patiently until the artist turned the sketchbook and pushed it across the table. Gerard gave him a mildly nervous look, like he wasn't a brilliant artist and Frank was going to tell him that his art was terrible.

Of course, it was breathtakingly good. How he managed to make art look so good, Frank had no fucking idea. It was a fucking Christmas miracle, to have found this guy. Gerard waited expectantly for Frank's comment, which - well, he didn't have any. You couldn't critique art this great. Frank looked at the shadow under Ray's chin, the tiny anxious smile that was just _perfect_. It really did look so much like his manager that it was unbelievable. This time, Gerard had him clad in something similar to a military outfit, dark green and neat. The background was of the beach, dark and slightly gloomy. He could see himself in the background, looking off into the ocean.

"Shit, dude. You did it _again_."

Gerard cracked a little smile. "Yeah?"

"I could kiss you," Frank continued. "I fucking love the military thing."

He noticed the artist blush and resisted the urge to smirk. Cute.

"I think maybe it's too green," Gerard admitted after a moment.

"Hm. Maybe? It kind of reminds me of the khakis of death."

"What about just...a simple colour scheme?"

"Like what? Black?"

"Yeah."

"Black and...silver?"

"Perfect."

Frank grinned at Gerard and Gerard grinned back, happy as anything.

"I have a really fucking good feeling about this," Frank said.

"Me too," Gerard replied.

###

Ray was manning the shop by himself (on Fridays, Bob was supposed to be working, but he had a habit of not showing up) when it happened.

He was sitting at the register, carefully trimming a boronia and thinking about how he really needed to hire a different person. Honestly, Bob was the most unreliable person he had ever come across. Ray had hired him because he'd seemed actually interested in the store, but that hadn't lasted long. It was really disappointing, and then he had to man the store himself. He didn't tell Frank that Bob never showed anymore - if he knew, Frank would sacrifice his single day off to be cooped in the store. Ray didn't want that for him. Maybe he'd tape up a sign in front of the store or something. Fire Bob and get a new part-timer.

He sighed and swept the mess of dirt and leaves to the floor, and that's when the window made an ominous rattling noise. Ray looked up and saw a flash of dark hair and eyeliner and - was that _blood_? Jesus Christ. He was dropping the flowerpot and running out the door before his mind caught up and registered that he was grabbing Mikey Way's sleeve.

Mikey turned towards him and Ray saw it again, the way his eyeliner was smudged around his eyes suspiciously like he'd been wiping at it. Somehow, that bothered him far more than the bruise colouring on Mikey's cheekbone and the blood leaking from his split lip. He'd been _crying_. His hand was still clenched tightly in Mikey's sleeve, holding them in that spot outside the flower shop while the wind tried to push them away. Mikey seemed frozen too, some element of surprise written in his eyes as he stared at Ray. Ray just stared back - he'd done this completely on an instinct, and now his brain had caught up he had no idea what he was doing.

"...Ray?"

"I, uh."

Mikey wiped at his eyes with his free sleeve. "Sorry. What's up?"

He sounded completely fine, but it looked like someone had _mugged_ him. There was no way he was actually okay. Ray's protective streak started kicking in before he could stop it, memories of a beaten and bloodied Frank from the past flickering behind his eyes. He was already leading Mikey into the store before he realised it was probably kind of weird to be doing so. Mikey was following him without a word, though, so maybe it wasn't that weird.

"Stay here for a second," he instructed, leaving Mikey in the staff bathroom while he found the first aid kit. When he came back, Mikey wasn't crying, but it was obvious his eyes were damp. Ray tried not to look like he'd noticed and instead started gently wiping off the blood on Mikey's chin. Mikey didn't say anything, just tilted his face up towards Ray and closed his eyes. It should have been easier to go about it without those dark eyes boring a hole through him, but with his eyes closed Mikey looked completely different. Vulnerable, almost, with his chin up and lips parted gently. _Peaceful_. Like he felt safe with Ray here.

Ray was immediately glad Mikey couldn't see his face go bright red.

"What happened?" He asked the question to distract himself.

"He didn't like the flowers," Mikey mumbled, slurring the words slightly.

"Jesus. He did this to you? It looks like you've been hit by a truck."

"Short guys are mean."

Ray gently ran a fingertip over the bruise and was almost surprised when Mikey didn't run for the hills. Instead, his eyes fluttered open again, immediately fixing on Ray again. That stare, Jesus. It was so _intense_. How did he do that? There was no heat in it, though, nothing aggressive or displeased, so Ray just picked up the ice and held it to Mikey's bruised face. It genuinely did look like something harder than a fist had hit him - more like a brick, or something. Whoever this guy was, he didn't mess around. He probably owned a fucking mafia or something. Ray really hoped Mikey wouldn't be assassinated for that bouquet.

"You look like someone kicked a puppy," Mikey said.

"I'm sorry," Ray answered. "If I hadn't made that bouquet, your face wouldn't be all messed up."

"Nah, 's not your fault."

"What if he comes after you?"

Mikey snorted. "He won't. He's got an entire highschool to soothe his wounded pride."

"Oh."

"I was just tired of him trying to get in-between me and whoever I was dating."

"Was he...jealous?"

"No idea," Mikey said. "It's hard to explain to your boyfriend that the guy sending you dick pics is just a friend, though."

"I can, uh, imagine," Ray said sympathetically. He couldn't imagine.

"Mm," came the noncommittal reply.

Ray only realised he was still holding the icepack to Mikey's face when the younger man shifted. He jumped away, cheeks colouring, and the ice fell to the floor with a crackle. Mikey didn't move, but Ray was already on the floor picking it up and apologising as fast as he could speak. He snuck a glance up at Mikey and found the same intense stare that he always had on his face. He didn't seem angry at Ray so apparently he wasn't being entirely creepy.

"I'm sorry," Ray said again.

"It's okay," Mikey replied.

They stayed like that for a minute, something weird and unnameable making Ray just sit there, looking up at Mikey. Mikey just looked down at him the same as he usually did, but there was something else. Something...

"So, what was that flower you were playing with?"

The moment was broken, and Ray tried not to look too disappointed. After all, if there was one thing he could talk about without making a complete idiot of himself, it was flowers. "Well..."

###

"Gentlemen, would you like some food?"

The barista - Lyn-Z, Gerard had learned - smiled at them with her dark red lips and held out the aforementioned food. Gerard resisted the urge to start drawing her immediately and instead gratefully accepted a fry from the bowl she held out. Frank grabbed an entire handful and just shoved them into his mouth in one go, which was kind of gross but also ridiculously endearing. Lyn-Z looked amused by this action too, although she looked like that a lot when she was watching the two of them. Gerard wasn't sure what that meant. He glanced up at the clock and dear Lord, they'd been in here for four hours.

Frank had pushed his chair around to sit next to Gerard in those four hours, and every time he moved he got right in Gerard's space. He quite obviously didn't have any concept of personal space - not that Gerard was going to complain. Was this a date? It might be a date. There was a chance it was a date. Mikey seemed convinced it was. Gerard wasn't so sure. Frank seemed pretty interested in the uniform design, after all. And that's what they were here for.

"Maybe we should make the whole thing in black and white," Frank suggested. "Continue the colour scheme."

"I can do that," Gerard agreed, shading in the cashier's jawline on the page.

He stared at the picture. Something was missing. Something important. But he couldn't figure out what in the land of living hell it _was_. It was like that time at SVA, when he'd been working on a graphics piece and there was just something that need to be there that _wasn't_. Times like this were the reason Gerard occasionally hated his art. There was always some little bit of it that didn't quite work and never did, and he probably wouldn't be able to figure it out. Which was a damn shame, because this thing was turning out really nicely. It was a good drawing, even by his own standards and not Frank's (who seemed to think that everything he did was brilliant).

"What's up? You look like you just found out David Bowie died."

Gerard glanced at Frank. "You like Bowie?"

"I'm more into the punk scene, but hey, _Ziggy Stardust_ was a work of art."

"It was the best," he replied dreamily.

Frank smiled. "Music is the thing, you know?"

"The thing?"

The cashier turned to stare out the window, and there was something faraway in his eyes. "You know, that _thing_ , the thing that feels like it's part of your soul. Like you were born to live it and breathe it and die with it, and nothing else is quite the same. It's just that one thing. Forever. That's music for me."

"Wow," was all Gerard could say. "You play?"

"Used to. Guitar, mostly. Not anymore."

Gerard had tried to play stuff a few times, but he just wasn't adept enough for anything but a half-decent Smashing Pumpkins cover. He'd noticed the calluses on Frank's fingers, though, and they seemed like a part of him. "What stopped you?"

Frank shrugged. "Sometimes life goes in unexpected directions."

"Did something bad happen?"

"No, nothing tragic. Just... life, you know?"

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a few heavy minutes, Frank still looking out the window and Gerard glancing everywhere so he wouldn't stare. He was curious, though. If the cashier felt that way about music, why was he working in a florist's as a lowly register guy? And the way Frank was looking right now was... different. Every time Gerard had seen him he'd been filled with this indescribable kinetic energy, always moving and talking and bouncing around. And now he was just sitting there, the sunlight glinting off the angle of his jawline and making his eyes look like glass. Clearly something had happened, but Gerard wasn't entirely sure he was allowed to poke around in Frank's business.

"Do you miss it?"

A tiny smile came to Frank's lips. "Every day."

"My brother wanted to learn guitar," Gerard said. "No one wants to teach him, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It sucks. I think it's because Belleville is so fucking conservative, y'know, and we're like... 'The Gays.'"

"The notoriously evil gays, with their devilish gay agenda. Taking over the world one blowjob at a time."

They laughed and Frank sounded cheerful again, happy, so Gerard felt a bit more comfortable talking about the subject.

"Hey, have you ever taught anyone?"

"No way, man," Frank laughed. "I'd be shit."

"Would you be willing to try? I mean, it's okay if you don't want to or it's weird but-"

"Shh, Gerard Way, it's fine. It's the least I can do to pay you back for your ridiculous art skills."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll be shit, but I'll try. For you and your notorious gay agenda."

Gerard smiled at Frank, and Frank poked the tip of his nose. "But that's only if we see some progress, mister."

"I have some ideas now. I think I know what to do with it."

"I look forward to it, Gerard Way."

"Just Gee is fine."

"Awh, but I was enjoying the full name thing, _Gee_."

"Shut up, Frank...?"

"Iero. Like eye-ear-oh."

"Iero?"

"Your pronunciation is impeccable, Gee Way," Frank purred. "Do I sense some Italian heritage hidden within that Jersey body?"

"Shut up, Frank Iero," Gerard replied, folding his arms across his chest.

Frank winked at him.

###

"So, do you know anything about that mysterious flower?"

Ray settled against the couch and tapped his fingers against the worn leather. It was weird to be back home, sometimes, because he practically lived in the store. Frank had suggested they take out the second floor of plants to make him an apartment. Ray, of course, had refused, but he understood why it might make sense to do so. After all, the store was his lifeblood. But living in it would create less room for the plants - and like Frank had said to him a few days later, if he lived at _Pansy's Picks_ Ray would spend all his time on the plants rather than actually having some time where he didn't work. Although being busy wasn't really a bad thing. It wasn't like he did anything else, after all.

"No, nothing," he replied to Frank, shifting the phone closer to his ear. "I'm going to try and get the date the order was filed."

"Cool. What if it was like, done at midnight on the day she died or something?"

"Frank."

"I know, but it'd be cool," Frank contended.

"Gerard isn't going to like you if you're disrespectful."

"Hey! Elena would have laughed at the idea too, Ray. And you know it."

Ray had to agree. "She would. But she isn't here to laugh about it."

"Jeez, we don't need the 'appropriate jokes' talk again."

"Sorry. I just..."

"You're just being you," Frank said fondly. "It's okay."

"Is it?"

"'course, Ray."

There was a long moment of silence where he could practically _feel_ Frank's cheerful smile radiating through the phone at him. There was something undeniably safe about the short tattooed man even through his attitude and habit of fighting people. Even when they'd been younger, Frank was a protective figure in Ray's life. It just seemed to be how it was. If he was being completely honest about it, Ray kind of liked it that way. He wasn't a straightforward, fisticuffs and energy kind of guy and Frank was, so they probably balanced each other out. With Frank here, he didn't have to worry about muggers or disrespectful old men, and Ray supposed he was the one that kept Frank in check.

"Hey, so what kind of plant was it?"

"It says it's classified," Ray answered. "We won't know until it gets here."

"Where's it coming from?"

"Doesn't say."

"Do we know anything about this thing? What if terrorists planted it on our system and we ship a bomb or something?"

"I'd rather a ghost, to be honest."

"Me too," Frank agreed. "So it doesn't tell you _anything_?"

"It tells me that it's in the 'Now Ordered' category, and it tells me it's a plant. That's all."

"That's kind of suspicious, man."

"Yeah." Ray sighed.

He got the feeling if Frank was here, he'd be sprawled across Ray's lap or next to him, demanding hugs. It made him think about Mikey, about the way Mikey had given him a faint, barely-there smile when he left the store. There wouldn't be any lap-sprawling happening there. Actually, after the First Aid Incident this afternoon, Ray would be surprised if Mikey ever came in the store again. Who just grabbed someone they barely knew off of the street and started patching them up? Especially with all the blushing he'd been doing. God, he was a disgrace. He wouldn't be surprised if Gerard showed up to beat the crap out of him.

"'llo? Ray? You still with me?"

"I'm... yeah, I'm with you."

"Good. So anyway, we've definitely got uniform plans. Gerard is _so_ fucking talented I think my eyes started bleeding."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. I wanted to help draw so he let me do some clouds in the sky. I think he was making fun of me."

"Nah, they were probably great clouds."

"Damn fucking right they were."

"I'm sure Gerard appreciated your help," Ray continued.

He could feel Frank's giggle more than hear it. "Sure. My _help_. With all those free refills from Lyn-Z, he didn't even need help paying for his drink."

Oh no. "Was he... interested in her?"

"Who can tell? He blushed, but he blushes when I talk to him too."

"It'll be fine, Frankie."

"Of course it will. I'm not letting Lindsey Ballato steal my artist. She can draw enough herself. I need his talent."

"What are you going to do, absorb it?"

"Yes. Exactly. Like a gay vacuum."

"Attractive." Ray couldn't stifle his laughter.

"Got a problem with gay vacuums, Raymond?"

"No," he barely got the word out, he was laughing so hard. Frank's odd cackle was leaking through the earpiece too, and Ray wondered what exactly he'd done to deserve a friend like Frank.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ray?"

Frank peered into the dim window of the store, pressing his gloved hands against the frosted glass. He saw yards and yards of flowers in every shape and size just like normal, but what he didn't see was an afro. He glanced at the door and found the 'CLOSED' sign hanging there in bold red. Weird. And where the hell was Bob? It was his day to work, too. Where were they? Was it a public holiday and he'd forgotten? No, impossible, Ray even opened on Christmas. It wasn't his birthday, and it wasn't Frank's birthday, so something must have happened. Something that was probably not good. Which meant it was something bad.

He shuffled around to the side of the store, picking up the pot of wilted geraniums that held the spare key. Once he'd grabbed the key and unlocked the back room, he shoved open the door and peered around. Frank wasn't much of a criminal, but breaking and entering his own workplace when it was basically _abandoned_ was fair. Ray never missed a day of work, and where the fuck was Bob? He grabbed his phone and dialed his coworker quickly, kicking off his boots and yanking off a scarf. Shit, if this place was abandoned...

" _The person you have dialed is currently not available. Please leave a message, or call again at a later time_."

"Fuck," Frank muttered. No Bob, then.

There better not have been an accident or something. He glanced around the front counter. All the stuff from yesterday was still there; a red rose that Frank had 'accidentally' stepped on, a few receipts, a sketch of a begonia. Ray always cleaned up whatever was lying about in the morning, claiming that cleanliness would attract more customers. Frank didn't agree. He kicked at a chocolate wrapper with one sneaker. Clearly no one had been here since yesterday. Which was more than just a little unusual. So Frank called his next line of emergency, while putting away the papers and throwing trash in the bin. Force of habit.

He dialed Ray.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...'llo?"

"Ray! Where the fuck are you? And where's Bryar?" He tried not to sound too much like a worried parent. It had taken him _ages_ to answer. Ray was the kind of person that usually picked up on the first ring, what the hell. But there wasn't any urgency in the manager's voice, which meant he at least was probably fine. Maybe a little out of it. Or...slow, even. He sounded like he'd smoked half a baggie of marijuana.

"Huh...?"

"Were you _asleep_? The store's empty!"

"What?" Ray sounded more alert now, and Frank could hear him moving around. "Bob's supposed to be there, I called him yesterday and he promised he'd look after it for me."

"Well, he ain't here."

"Fuck," Ray said, clearly.

Frank wanted to laugh. "I called him, but he didn't answer. What's going on?"

A sigh crackled down the phone. "I wanted to try and figure out what was going on with that flower. The one Elena...yeah. I asked Bob if he could work the store alone and he said yes."

"Hope he's okay."

"He's probably fine," Ray said shortly, and Frank nearly flinched away from the phone. He sounded...angry? But he couldn't be. Ray? _Angry_? Impossible. Frank was a little taken aback by this sudden abrupt attitude he was receiving.

"I...I'll open the shop, yeah?"

"Sure. I'll be there in five."

"Mmkay. Seeya, Toro."

Ray hung up first, which was also kind of unusual, and Frank sat down on the counter heavily. He felt kind of like a girlfriend whose man had suddenly started acting all cold and went to strip clubs behind her back and all that shit. Why was Ray so mad? Normally he was the really forgiving type, but he had sounded livid on the phone when Frank had mentioned Bob. Was something going on there...? Surely not. Bob and Ray? Gross. Ray would suffocate Bob with his afro and Bob would scratch Ray with his itchy fucking beard. That would be awful. Frank preferred Mikey and Ray. At least Mikey had the eyeliner thing going on, even if his facial expressions were a little bit...missing.

He flipped the store sign to 'OPEN' and seated himself on his normal chair. Time to get to the bottom of this mystery. All he knew at the moment was that there was something between Ray and Bob going on, and it didn't bode well for anyone. Maybe Bob was in a _gang_. Well, the only gang Bob would be in would be a gang that stole expensive drumsticks and peonies, but still. It was a possibility. He rang Bob's number again, waited patiently for the beep and then screeched into the phone. If that didn't get his attention, what in the hell would, right? Even if Bob did go deaf in the aftermath. Oh well. He'd live theough it. Frank dialed again.

" _The person you have dialed is currently not available. Please leave a message, or call again at a later tim_ e."

"Fucker! Answer your goddamn cell!"

He sighed and began rifling through Ray's files, looking for the one labelled 'Bryar, Robert.' It was easy enough to find, probably because there were only three current employees. Frank double clicked the icon and began the tedious task of scrolling past all the shit that wasn't interesting. He finally came across the employee sign-ins at the very end of the file, in a neat little graph that showed...nearly nothing.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

"Bryar, you fucker," Frank muttered, trying not to look too guilty when a customer that had just arrived gave him a dirty look. She'd live. He was more interested in swearing at Bob than selling another fucking red rose, anyway.

###

"It's still following us," Mikey commented, looking back at the hot pink ute driving along behind them.

"Fucking hell," Gerard said, making a dangerous and probably highly illegal turn. Mikey tried to hold onto the contents of his stomach. And Gerard called _him_ the bad driver? He was going to throw up right here, right now. How had they not been pulled over?

"He still following us, Mikes?"

"Yeah."

"Ugh. I feel like I'm in a shitty action movie. Fucking car chases?" Gerard made another dangerous swerve into a back alley, scraping the side of their car on a lamp post.

The ute followed.

Mikey didn't actually say anything back, turned his gaze back to the view outside the car. When Gerard had asked if he'd come along to _Pansy's Picks_ , he'd said yes, but not because he wanted to hit on Ray like his brother thought. He'd managed to hide the bruise and make up excuses about the cut on his lip, but it was hard to explain why Pete Wentz was following him around. Stalking him, even. He wasn't sure about the protocol surrounding a gift of fuck you flowers, but usually you wouldn't stalk the giver. Mikey had no idea what was actually going on in Pete's head - probably nothing good. The street whizzed by as he watched, trying not to think about how he was literally being chased.

_"Who is he?"_

_"Who is who," Mikey had replied, not even looking at Pete's face._

_"Who is he," Pete repeated, getting right in Mikeys face. "Some asshole told you to do this, right? You got a boyfriend now? Think you're too good for me?"_

_"It's not about anyone else," Mikey said, folding his arms. For some reason he thought of Ray's shy little smile in that moment, even with Pete's eyes boring holes into him. "I don't want to do this anymore and you're not listening."_

_"Sure it isn't," Pete snarled. "Do I know him?"_

_"It's not-"_

_Then had come the punch._

"Jealous prick," Mikey muttered at the window, tasting the memory of blood.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, Gee. Get to the store. Maybe we can convince them to barricade us inside."

"Frank would probably agree to that," Gerard replied, sounding amused.

"Good," he answered grimly.

His brother swung the car to the right, barely missing a kid on a skateboard, and sped down the road. Mikey crossed his fingers and _yes_ , a taxi went in front of the street just before Pete could make the turn. Gerard glanced back and grinned, and then they fistbumped each other. Mikey was reminded of the days it was just the two of them, skipping school to hire out truly awful movies and share a bottle of whiskey that was even worse. Just Mikey and Gerard Way, the kids no one liked against the rest of the world. Gerard was still smiling cheerfully out the dashboard, and Mikey hid his own smile against the  passenger window.

Gerard whistled as he indicated left and parked neatly in front of _Pansy's Picks_. "Looks like Frank's here. Weird, it's his day off."

"And you know that how?"

Mikey refrained from smirking at his brother as they got out the car and headed into the store. Gerard's cheeks were still slightly flushed when Frank looked up and noticed them. Well, noticed Gerard. _Gay_. If they kept looking at each other like that, rainbows were going to pop out of all of the plants and there'd be a musical number or something. He wanted to say something to break the moment, but... it was regrettably cute, the way Frank's face was all lit up and Gerard got kind of blushy. Gay, but cute. Maybe they'd actually go on a date, one of these days. One without drawing and work. Something a tad more romantic.

"Hi," Frank greeted.

"Hey," Gerard answered.

Mikey didn't bother saying anything. He toed at the dirt pile next to the front door curiously, then glanced around. It was a mess in here, which was weird because every time Mikey had been in here before, it had been spotless. Although, last time he'd been too busy trying not to break down in tears to notice the cleanliness of the place. Dammit, why did Ray have to be so nice? He was way too good for Mikey. _Way_ too good. At least Pete was an asshole, so Mikey always had the higher moral ground. He refrained from sighing and leaned against a bench of flowers, looking outside.

A bunch of curls stalked past the window. Oh. Speak of the devil.

"Toro!"

Ray entered the store and glared at Frank. Full-on, one hundred percent glare. Mikey was a little taken aback. That was scary. What in the living land of hell had _happened_?

"Fucking Bryar," Ray muttered.

"I wrote his 'You're Fired' note," Frank replied.

"Oh."

"It's cool, you and me can handle the place." Frank smiled at Ray cheerily.

"...yeah," Ray said.

Gerard said something to Frank in a low voice, probably something to do with their art thing, and Frank motioned for them to go to the back room. Gerard followed with a glance back at Mikey, expression slightly worried. Mikey rolled his eyes and they left, leaving him with a clearly aggravated Ray Toro.

"You okay?"

Ray sighed and approached Mikey, resting his forehead on the bench Mikey was leaning against. "I need another worker, Frank can't stay here all the time. He needs a life."

"He seems happy here," Mikey offered.

"You think?"

"Yeah. He wouldn't hang around if he didn't."

Ray straightened up and smiled a little bit, shadows under his eyes, and Mikey wanted to just grab a handful of his hair and kiss the shit out of him. Ray inched a little closer to him, like maybe he felt it too, and Mikey's breath stopped in his lungs.

Of course, that was when Pete Wentz burst in.

###

Ray Toro was having a terrible day.

Ray had no idea who the angry short guy with too much eyeliner was, but he sure didn't like him, especially when he came in the store and slammed the door open so hard the daisy pots rattled. He immediately stalked up to Mikey, who gave an almost imperceptible flinch and shifted a step back. Ray didn't move.

"Flower shop, huh? Thought you could lose me?"

"I wouldn't have to lose you if you'd stop _stalking_ me, fucking hell."

"Hey, don't be like that."

"Um, who are-" Ray started, but the minute he opened his mouth dark eyes were fixed on him, angry and dangerous looking. He felt like he was looking at a rabid wolf. This was bad.

"Is this him?"

"I _told_ you," Mikey said, looking aggrieved. "There isn't anyone else. I just want you to go away."

"Is this him, Michael?"

"You're like a goddamn broken record. Leave me the hell alone. You already broke my face."

Ray glanced between Mikey, who still had the bruise yellowing on his cheekbone and a split lip, and the guy, who had his fists clenched and a look on his face that spelt the worst kind of trouble. Then it clicked. This was the asshole that had hurt Mikey, the one he'd given the bouquet to. This asshole had _hurt_ him. Ray still had the worst headache in the world throbbing behind his eyes from both the lack of sleep and the shit with Bob, and it felt like everything was slipping sideways. He had gotten maybe an hour of sleep last night, and he really wasn't equipped to be dealing with this guy in his store. Luckily, he was the manager, so maybe he could just kick his ass right out into the street.

"Hey, fucker," was he talking to _Ray_? What?

"...what?"

"Think you're better than me, with your clever little flowers and your stupid hair? I bet you have a toothpick dick."

"I..."

The guy got right up in Ray's face. "I'm onto you, asswipe. Stop messing with Mikey."

Mikey tried to shove in between them. "Pete, fuck off. I _told_ you-"

Pete ignored him, tugging at Ray's nametag roughly and dragging him forward a step. Their chests bumped, and Ray smelt a whiff of way too much deoderant. Had he _bathed_ in Axe? Jesus lord. It burned his nostrils. Pete shook him a little, eyes burning into Ray's face like he owned lazer irises.

"Manager, huh? Think you're a fancy fucking big shot? Think you can just take other people's stuff like you own it? Want to fight me, asshole?"

Ray snapped out of his stunned trance. "Mikey isn't your _stuff_." Pete opened his mouth to keep talking, but Ray was sick of him. He shoved at Pete. "Get the fuck out of my store."

"I'm going to kick your ass."

"Didn't you hear me? Get the hell out, or I'm calling the cops."

"I-"

"Get. _Out_."

Pete started walking towards the exit, but his eyes were dark and dangerous, fixed on Mikey. Ray unconsciously stepped closer to Mikey, moving in front of him protectively. Pete opened the front door, banging it against the wall with a loud thump. He bared his teeth at the two of them - and what the fuck, seriously. Ray took a threatening step towards him, and Pete seemed to realise that the manager was probably going to kick him out the door if he didn't go. He stepped out of the store, still staring holes into Mikey as he went.

"I'm coming back, Mikey. And I'm coming for your boyfriend."

"He's not my-"

Mikey sighed as the door slammed. Ray watched Pete stalk to his car (a fucking pink ute, _seriously_ , how was this guy even real) and then turned back to him with a single eyebrow raised.

Mikey just looked tired.

"That's him?"

"Yeah."

"He's...kind of a dick," Ray offered.

"Yeah," Mikey repeated. 

"Why does he think we're dating?"

"Who knows what goes on in his brain. I've tried to tell him, but he doesn't listen."

"Sucks."

"Yeah," Mikey said again.

"I'm sure he'll back off," Ray said out loud.

"Maybe," Mikey said doubtfully.

They sat in thoughtful silence for a minute, Mikey tapping his fingers lightly against the bench and Ray staring up at the ceiling, worrying about Pete coming back and punching him too. He peered out the store and noticed that the footpath had been spraypainted neon green. Lovely. He'd always wanted vandals that threatened him and his customers turning his sidewalk into a radioactive art piece. Honestly, he was more concerned about whether Mikey was going to be alright or not. Pete was short, but hell, he clearly had some serious problems.

"Is there any way you can get him to leave you alone for good?"

"I wish. He only backed off because you were here."

"I'm sure that's not-"

"Wait."

Ray waited.

"Would you be willing to...pretend to be my boyfriend?"

_Pretend_ to be his boyfriend? Ray was pretty sure his eyebrows had flown off with shock. Mikey's expression didn't change in the slightest, but he got the odd impression that the other was _embarrassed_. Ray was pretty sure he was so tired he'd started hallucinating. Because people like Mikey Way didn't go out with people like him, even if it was pretend. This had to be some kind of set-up, or a joke. Except Mikey's dark eyes were watching him in a way that suggested it wasn't. Holy shit. He could feel himself going bright red with embarrassment.

"You said you needed another worker, right? What if I part-time here to pay you back?"

"Um."

"It's okay, I get that it's weird. You ca say no if you want."

Ray took another look at the bruise on Mikey's sharp jaw, the way he was just watching, waiting for an answer.

"Okay," he said. "I'll do it."

###

"What was that all about?"

Frank turned around and shrugged a little. "He's had a bad day. Morning. Whatever."

"Is he...alright?"

"Yeah, our ex co-worker was just an asshole. But hey, I got some stuff I wanted to show you."

Frank smiled at him brilliantly, the shaggy part of his hair slipping over one eye, and Gerard resisted the urge to brush it back. Dammit. Stop being so goshdarned cute, Frank. It was so unfair. Frank himself didn't seem to notice Gerard's despair, twirling on the spot and then jumping up to grab at something. When he looked up, he noticed a small silver string attached to the ceiling, something that a very short person would have trouble grabbing. It didn't stop the small cashier from trying, jumping up like a rabbit on speed and crashing into a shelf. Gerard couldn't help reaching forward to steady him, and Frank's beam turned onto brightness. He was going to go blind.

"Here," he mumbled instead, grabbing ahold of the string for Frank and pulling it down to give to the tattooed man.

"Thanks!"

Frank yanked at it hard, and with a creak, a trapdoor in the ceiling opened, along with a rope ladder. Gerard tried not to gape too much. Dude. They had a secret second floor in their flower store? This was way too cool for him. _Don't geek out_ , Gerard reminded himself. _Frank doesn't want to see you geek_. Geeking was really unattractive, especially to hot tattooed punk flower shop cashiers. And he didn't want Frank to think he was any more unattractive than he already was.

"We have a secret base on the second floor, it's so cool!" Frank cheered, jumping up and down.

"Oh." Well. Frank didn't obey any of the cool rules, did he?

"Too dorky for you, Gerard Way?"

"What- no!"

Frank giggled. "Come up to my office, then, good sir."

He began scaling the ladder with an enthusiasm that was so very Frank, and Gerard tried not to stare at the curve of his ass while he did. It took a lot of concentration, and a painful pinch to his own wrist. Frank reached the top and peered down, grinning, and motioned for Gerard to join him. Gerard closed his hand around the first rung and avoided thinking about how he'd failed climbing rope in high school. The ladder was a bit easier than that, though, so he just closed his eyes and focused on going up. It felt like he'd been climbing forever when a strong hand grasped his and Frank helped him up.

"You like?"

"Do I _like_ ," Gerard said, gaping.

Frank sprawled back in a pile of clover, giggling like a child. Gerard was still staring, because they had a goddamn _garden_ on top of their shop.

It was obviously an attic space, triangular in shape and probably once dark and gloomy. That wasn't the case, though, because someone had removed one wall and replaced it with fine glass, tinted a very light blue. The floor wasn't actually _floor,_ it was layers of clover and greenery that Gerard couldn't name but it felt like there was nothing underneath it, like he was standing in a forest. And it really was a forest; tiny saplings sprouting around the edges and vines curling up the walls. There was mostly green, but then shades of purple and pink and blue flowers were just visible. It felt like he'd stepped into Poison Ivy's lair, or a secret fairy forest where he'd never be found again.

"Fucking hell," Gerard said.

"It looks okay?"

He looked at Frank and saw a tiny hint of anxiety in his face, different from when he'd presented that awful drawing. This seemed _real_. And then it clicked - had he _made_ this entire thing? Was this weird, breathtakingly magical foresty place something that was actually man-made? Gerard gaped at Frank, who was still sprawled backwards in the clover like some kind of elven prince, even in his ridiculous uniform. He'd look better in silver, or white. And black. Man, that would be something to draw.

"It's beautiful," he said.

Frank smiled, and reached up, grabbing at the sleeve of his hoodie. Before Gerard had a chance to realise what was going on here, he was being pulled off his feet and onto the floor of the room. His assailant clearly hadn't  thought this through, though, because Gerard's loss of balance meant he landed squarely on top of Frank. Whoops. He choked out an apology immediately, unbelievably embarrassed. Frank was soft and warm, and he let out a breathless laugh when Gerard went bright red.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Frank wheezed.

"It looks really nice," Gerard continued. "You did it yourself?"

"Yeah. It's Ray's birthday surprise, don't tell."

"It's his store. How can you keep this entire thing a secret?"

"He thinks I'm keeping all my comics here," Frank confided with a wink.

Gerard laughed. "What's that pot for?"

"I don't know," Frank said, kind of despondent.

There was a large earthen pot sitting upon a raised platform in the middle of the room, but it was empty. With everything else absolutely covered in plants, this was a little strange.

"What do you mean?"

"I want something special for it," Frank answered. "But I can't come up with anything."

"You'll get there," Gerard assured.

"Thanks," Frank answered, a gentle little smile on his face. "But, are you going to lay on me for the whole night?"

###

"Did you always want to be a flower store cashier?"

Frank rolled so he was on his side facing Gerard, knee touching the artist's thigh. "No," he admitted.

Gerard was looking up at the glass wall while they talked, and the light hit his hair in a ridiculously pretty way. Frank was really just enjoying the view. He had one hand tucked behind his head, and there was a tiny little pink flower (Frank didn't know what it was, he wasn't a florist or anything) next to his shoulder. Frank picked it up and settled it in Gerard's snow-white hair instead. Lovely. It was totally hippie to put flowers in someone's hair, but hey, it still suited him. Frank would probably look rubbish with flowers in his hair.

"What did you want to do? Like, out of anything in the world."

"Be a rockstar," Frank answered.

"Like, guitar and flamethrowers and sparkly outfits?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "All of that. There's something so magical about being up there playing onstage, you know? Like you're ripping your soul out and screaming it to the crowd. I had a record deal, once."

"And you gave it up for a flower shop?"

"Kind of."

"Before. When we were at the cafe. You said - you said music was your _thing_. And you just gave it up to stay here?"

"Kind of," Frank repeated. "It was when I was younger. But I'd probably make the same decision again if I was given the chance."

"What happened? I mean - you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but."

Frank rolled over so his chin was settled comfortably on Gerard's warm chest and met a slightly anxious hazel gaze. Looks like his artist actually did care - that was pretty neat. Did this guy have any actual flaws?

"You know when you're kids, and you make a promise with your best friend to stick together, no matter what?"

"...yeah," Gerard agreed.

"It was like that with me and Ray. We grew up together - built a treehouse in my backyard, played video games, did everything together. It was like love, but, not romantic, y'know?"

"Best friends."

"Yeah. We took guitar lessons together - I thought we were going to be the next big thing. Ray was fucking good, too."

"Then we got to high school," Frank started absently.

_"Hey, Ray, ready for guitar practice? I learned this sick riff and I thought maybe we could-"_

_"No, I'm working at the florist's today. Sorry."_

_"...oh."_

_Frank let the smile drop from his lips the minute Ray had turned around, clenching the neck of his guitar far too tight. He didn't say anything more, just watched his best friend walk away. It had been like this for weeks, and it made his chest ache like someone had sewn hot coals into it. Dewees clapped him on the shoulder in sympathy and started to lead him back to the music room, but it wouldn't be the same. It wasn't ever the same without Ray._

_"Hey man, I've got weed," Dewees offered. "Weed and a nice acoustic."_

_"I'll take you up on that," he agreed. "Got any of those nice picks you were carrying around?"_

_"The ones with the dead trees? Yeah, man."_

_"Ciol."_

_"Look," Dewees added, "Frank...fuck that guy."_

_"Shut up."_

Gerard's eyes softened so much that Frank felt his heart hurt. How did someone show that much sympathy in one expression? Jesus fucking Christ. Their hands were nearly touching, and when Frank shifted uncomfortably, Gerard linked their fingers together and held on. This time, Frank was the one that felt his cheeks heat up. What was with the chick-flick moment they were having?

"So...he just ignored you?"

"Well, no," Frank said, snapping out of his reverie. "It's- he was just distracted, you know? Stuff to do. I was doing great too, got a record deal set up for a solo album and all. It was called _Stomachaches_."

"What about Ray?"

"He became the manager after that. We didn't see each other for a few months. I don't think he really...noticed."

"But you guys were best friends."

"We're still best friends."

"Frank," Gerard said seriously.

Frank didn't say anything in return.

"Frank," the blonde repeated insistently.

Frank looked away, down at the floor. There was a tiny pink flower growing in a crack, and he nudged it gently with a finger. It shouldn't have been able to grow there - there was no soil or water anywhere near it, and where the hell had the seed come from? What a strange sort of thing to have happen. Maybe he'd have to uproot it and put it somewhere safe. He had a pot small enough for it at home.

" _Frank_."

"What do you want me to say?" Frank snapped. "That I killed my own dreams? I quit my chances of being a rockstar, that I dropped out of school, that I had to sell my guitar, all for a guy that I don't even want to _fuck_? You want me to tell you how much it sucks that I lost everything just to get Ray to pay attention to me again? Is that what you want?"

"Frankie, I just-"

"What was I _supposed_ to do? He didn't give a shit."

A gentle touch of Gerard's hand to his cheek made Frank realise he was crying. He didn't move, stared down at the tiny little flower until it blurred into a splash of colour against the floor. Geard wrapped an arm around him and hugged him close, warm and soft and smelling like cigarette smoke and charcoal and not at all like Ray. He took in an unsteady breath and fisted his hands in Gerard's shirt.

"He's my best friend," Frank mumbled into Gerard's collar.

"I know," Gerard said softly.


	5. Chapter 5

"What?"

 

"I said, you don't have to work today."

 

"But you can't just handle the entire store by yourself," Frank argued. 

 

"I'm not by myself."

 

"You hired someone already? How the fuck did you manage that, you dog?"

 

Ray laughed. 

 

"Did you blackmail them?" Frank persisted. "Did you threaten someone's family, Raymond? Their dog?"

 

"No, I didn't blackmail them," he answered patiently. "You're just complaining because you don't have anything else to do."

 

"Hrmph."

 

"Go see a movie or something. You never take holidays."

 

"I don't need holidays."

 

"I'll see you later, Frankie," Ray said, hanging up and setting his phone down on the front desk. It stayed lit up, however - his older brother had sent him yet another Candy Crush request. Ray absolutely despised Candy Crush. He glanced up and met a dark, expressionless gaze locked on his. Mikey looked nonplussed by the entire conversation he'd just eavesdropped on - he'd probably already realised how weird Ray and Frank were. Sometimes they were like a married couple, and sometimes people thought they were a married couple. Ray was just glad Frank hung around. What he would've done without him, Ray didn't know. 

 

"What do you want me to do?"

 

"Well, erm... just watch the counter while I trim some of the plants?"

 

"Sure." 

 

Mikey shifted off of his spot leaning against the front of the counter and slipped his Sidekick into his pocket. Ray noticed he was wearing a t-shirt that looked like it had come from the children's section of Target. It was... very pink. Okay. The weird thing was, it looked good on Mikey. Ray took a step back to let Mikey stand directly in front of the counter, misjudging the space in the area. It wasn't his fault that there wasn't space for two people over 5'5" there, and it certainly wasn't his fault that Mikey's bony hip bumped into his crotch. 

 

Luckily, it wasn't as bony as it looked. Just really embarrassing. What if he got sued for sexual harassment on Mikey's first day working here? Jesus.

 

"Sorry," Mikey said. 

 

"N-no, it's fine," he replied, one hundred percent sure he was doing a great tomato imitation right now. 

 

Mikey just gave him a little half-shrug and leaned on this side of the counter, tapping his fingers on the wood. Ray shuffled to the furthest end of the store to stew in his embarrassment alone. Fake-dating. It was just fake-dating. Fake being the key word. Mikey wasn't into him, he just needed protection from that psycho Wentz guy. And Ray was happy to give him that protection, without anything in return. That was fine. It was good to do things for other people. Polite, and all that. Politeness was good. It's not like Ray actually wanted to date Miley or anything. No, nothing like that. He only had the purest of intentions. Ray Toro was a saint. A charitable saint that would help Mikey and ask for nothing at all in return. 

 

"You've been watering that fern for ten minutes."

 

Ray glanced down at the poor drowned fern, dripping a sizeable amount of water onto the floor, then back up at Mikey's vaguely amused expression. Okay, so maybe he was a little distracted by this whole fake-dating thing. He'd only ever had one girlfriend, okay, he didn't even know how to fake-date a person. Mikey really should have gone for someone more experienced, someone more likely to survive an attack from Crazy Wentz. He should've asked Frank. Frank and Mikey would be perfect together - confident, ass-kicking and unbelievably hot. They could do each other's eyeliner, buy steelcap boots together, punch exes and make every punk couple jealous. Ray was just... Ray. 

 

"I'm- it's nothing."

 

"...alright," Mikey said in a patient tone that said he knew that Ray was lying. "I'll leave you to drown your other plants, then."

 

"No, wait," Ray said miserably. He had to tell Mikey this was going to be way too weird, that it was okay to just not work here and Ray could just... protect him some other way, but what came out of his mouth was "do you want to go out for lunch?"

 

"...lunch?"

 

"Yeah. There's this, um, really nice place a few streets away, they have nice coffee, and- um."

 

"Sure. Coffee's good. Not now, though. It's eight in the morning."

 

"Y-yeah, I mean- okay. Lunch. Lunch implied we would go at lunchtime, uh."

 

There was a soft snort. Yeah. He was a real charmer, huh. Ray was about five seconds from drowning himself in his nice floral watering can. Mikey's footsteps started to click away, and Ray turned back to his plant. His hand hovered over a tulip that had slightly wilted. Then he stopped. Paused. 

 

"Mikey?"

 

"Mm?"

 

"Why... why me?"

 

"Why you?"

 

"Why me, instead of like, Frank? He could kick Pete's ass."

 

Mikey turned to give him an almost imperceptible bemused smile. "Gerard would probably suffocate me in my sleep and then feed my body to the stray cats he likes."

 

"S-surely you have friends that would- ?"

 

"No. Not really."

 

"But you're so-"

 

"So...?"

 

Ray looked away. What was he supposed to say? How could any man or woman alike look at Mikey and not want to be close to him? And his only friend was his brother? Surely that was impossible. "Aah," he muttered under his breath. Stupid. Stupid. He needed to get over this dumb crush and focus on his work. Pete Wentz wasn't in the store, they didn't need to even broach this conversation, so why in the world had he? 

 

"It's nothing," he mumbled when he realised Mikey was still standing there. He didn't get a verbal reply, but there was a slight air of puzzlement that seemed to come from where Mikey stood. 

 

"It's nothing," he repeated. 

 

###

 

"My face hurts," Frank said muzzily, sitting upright and nearly falling back again immediately. 

 

"I can imagine," Gerard said sympathetically. Frank rubbed at his eyes, feeling a headache starting to build under his fingertips. Maybe it was for the best he hadn't gone into work. Although he didn't agree with Ray just getting a replacement like that- who could he get on such short notice? There hadn't even been time for an interview. Was Ray that desperate for workers other than Frank? Ugh. It made his head throb even more, like there was an angry darkness slashing and clawing at his skull. Gerard's hand settled on the back of his neck and Frank leaned into the touch, grimacing. 

 

"I'm a good cashier," he mumbled, and Gerard gave him a small smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here, by the way. Remind me to never relive my highschool days ever again."

 

"I wasn't going to let you drive when you were that drunk - and anyway, you passed out before you hit the sidewalk."

 

Frank frowned. So yeah, maybe he'd had a few drinks after baring his soul and all that, but who wouldn't? That shit was hard to face at the best of times. He opened his mouth to complain - about what, he didn't know. Gerard caring? - but then Gerard's fingers started massaging firmly and he just let out a huff of breath instead. Why did he have to care so much? It was weird. No one did that unless they wanted something, and Gerard - Gerard wasn't faking it. If he was, he was doing a ridiculously good job. 

 

"G'rard?"

 

"Mm?"

 

"If I tried to have sex with you now, would you let me?"

 

"No."

 

"Oh."

 

"We can talk about it when you're not stupendously hungover, okay? I don't think you're in the right mindset to have sex with me right now."

 

"I am so," Frank argued, although weakly. Maybe Gerard was right. He just really wanted to forget all that shit with Ray. He'd managed to shove it into a locked box in the back of his mind, and now all those memories, those feelings and - and abandonment - were back. Gerard's thumb smoothed over his spine and Frank closed his eyes, leaned back against Gerard's warm body. His room smelled like cigarette smoke and sunlight and apples, like comfort and ideas swirling around in a tornado of nonsense, kind of like Gerard himself. The sunlight warmed his face as he tilted his chin towards it, and he let out a sigh. 

 

"It's okay," Gerard soothed. 

 

"Mm," Frank said noncommittally. "When's Elena's flower getting here?"

 

"Why are you asking me? You're the one that works there."

 

"...eh."

 

"Ray said a couple of weeks, but I guess it depends," Gerard answered resignedly. Frank tapped his knee idly to a beat in his head. "Apparently it didn't even say where the plant comes from." 

 

"Weird fucking shit," Frank said.

 

"Maybe."

 

"D'you think it was her ghost?"

 

"Nah. I think she just came in when you two weren't there. What about the guy that just got fired? Bob, right?"

 

"Bobert Bryar?" 

 

Frank straightened up a little, brain clicking away at a million miles an hour. Bob wasn't really allowed to man the shop by himself - neither was Frank, really - but there had been a week where Ray had been called in for jury duty or something equally pointless, and he had left Bob in charge on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Frank had been at a godawful family reunion in which his great-aunt kept grabbing him and kissing his cheeks. And she smelled like rotting flesh, too. He should've told her that, just to see the look on her flabby face. She probably would have had a heart attack, though, along with half his relatives, so maybe it was for the best he hadn't. 

 

"I knew a Bob in high school," Gerard said absently. "He tried to cut off all my hair."

 

Frank turned around to eye Gerard. "There's... not that much to cut off."

 

Gerard laughed. "When I was a teenager I had like, shoulder length hair. It was so fucking greasy, like, all the time. And black. I was so goth."

 

Frank snorted. "I had dreadlocks in high school." 

 

"Oh my god," came the reply, among cackling laughter. "No way."

 

"Yeah way. They smelled like fucking pot all the time, I couldn't even lie to my mom about me smoking because it was that potent."

 

"I need to see a picture of this shit," Gerard wheezed, nigh hysterical.

 

"Show me yours and I'll show you mine, Way," Frank answered, smirking when said Way blushed slightly. 

 

"So anyway," Gerard said, not at all subtle about changing the subject, "it's a possibility Bob might have seen Elena? And he might know what the flower is?"

 

"Why do we need to do that? You're gonna find out what it is when it gets here."

 

"But I want to know now."

 

"Jesus, you're like a ten-year old before Christmas, trying to peek in his presents. Fine. I'll text Bob, see if he'll talk."

 

"You think he'll talk to you? I mean, he might be kind of pissed about being fired and all."

 

"Nah. He deserved that and he knew it. Anyway, if he doesn't talk to me, who will he talk to? He doesn't have any other friends."

 

"What? Why?"

 

"Because he's an asshole like, eighty percent of the time. I feel sorry for his roommate, but Patrick's used to crazy shit so he's chill."

 

"Okay."

 

"But you owe me another massage. And the biggest mug of coffee you can get."

 

"You just want me to get you a bucket from the shed?"

 

"You have a shed?"

 

"...well, no, but you don't have to be rude about it."

 

###

 

Lunch was good, which was what Mikey had expected. Ray seemed like a guy who knew his stuff, and his stuff seemed to include a list of the best places for food. It wasn't a fancy restaurant, thank god, just a diner that was remarkably... not greasy. It was strange but agreeable, and the fries weren't oversalted and the burger was nice and hot and the sauce was orgasmic. It was a change from all the dirty places Gerard always dragged him to. Ray knew stuff, which was great.

 

What Ray didn't seem to know was how to relax. Was he that unsettling?

 

Mikey stirred his coffee idly and glanced up at his... not-boyfriend. Ray was pale, fiddling with something under the table. Probably his phone? Candy Crush was more interesting than he was? Wow. Mikey was starting to think maybe this fake dating thing was a bad idea. Ray didn't seem to be even slightly into him - exactly the opposite, in fact. He didn't even seem to want Mikey around. It was a little... not hurtful, really, because he'd gotten himself into this situation, but he thought maybe they'd had something. Which they didn't. Because this wasn't a date. And they weren't dating. But Pete didn't know that, and they were doing a really shitty job of being convincing. 

"Do you... do you not want to do this anymore?" Mikey couldn't help asking.

 

Ray startled, nearly knocking over his drink as he flinched. "What?"

 

"I feel like this is making you uncomfortable," he gestured between the two of them. "It's okay if it is."

 

"N-no, I'm just- it's-" Ray stopped talking and let out a weary sigh, his forehead dropping down to the table. Mikey cringed, then remembered they were in a clean eating establishment, so it was okay. Once Gerard had done that and ended up with a faceful of grease and sauce. 

 

"It's just?" He prompted. 

 

"I've never dated anyone before," came the miserable reply, muffled by the table. 

 

Mikey blinked. "Never?"

 

"Never," Ray repeated. "Never been on a date, never had a relationship. Frank kissed me once when he was drunk."

 

"That's kind of sad, dude." 

 

All he got in return from that comment was a muffled groan. 

 

"What happened, anyway? How does a guy even make it through high school without getting laid once?" 

 

Ray tilted his head to the side, so Mikey could see one eye and the side of his nose. "I didn't have time."

 

"Wow."

 

Ray blushed, which Mikey was coming to understand was a very common thing he did. He lifted the coffee cup to his lips and waited for the other man to elaborate on why exactly he hadn't even kissed anyone before. Mikey was almost in shock. Even Gerard had managed to get laid when he was drunk off his head. Although that was mostly because of Bert McCracken. Ray sat up wearily, looking embarrassed and distracted, and began fiddling with a napkin.  

 

"I just... I got the flower shop, y'know?"

 

"You got the flower shop."

 

"Yeah, when I was in high school. I was... distracted."

 

"How long do you actually spend in the store?"

 

"Uh... about sixteen hours a day?"

 

"Fuck." 

 

"I have to get everything done, y'know? The accounts and the banking and the orders and... everything."

 

"Do you even have a life outside of that place?" 

 

"No," Ray said, sounding like he was joking even though Mikey knew he wasn't. Jesus. Since high school. That was no way for someone to live, completely swallowed up by one little shop without any sort of external social life. Mikey couldn't decide if he pitied Ray or wanted to punch him in the nose for not taking care of himself. Instead, he let out his long sigh into the nearly-empty coffee cup and set it down. 

 

"You're coming out with me. Saturday night. And no, you don't have a choice. You need a life, Ray."

 

"But, the shop," Ray protested weakly.

 

"Fuck the shop. Live a little. You're not like, forty, you've still got things to do that aren't about employment. Your only kiss is from your best friend."

 

"...yeah, okay."

 

"Okay?" Mikey hadn't expected him to agree. 

 

"Okay," Ray repeated, a bit more confident this time around. "Where... where are we going?"

 

"Out." 

 

Mikey dropped a couple of bills on the table and started winding his way around the tables to the exit, Ray a step behind him, when Pete walked in. Shit. Shitshitshit. It took a few seconds for him to notice Mikey, because he was with someone else. A friend, maybe? A new fuckbuddy? Either way, he was distracted enough not to recognise Mikey and Ray on sight. 

 

And it was just enough time for Mikey to whip around, grab Ray's collar forcibly and drag him into a kiss. It wasn't anything fancy - kind of awkward, actually, because Ray didn't know what to do with his hands and Mikey had been a teensy bit rough, but Ray smelled nice and he could actually kiss, for all his lack of experience. Then he heard Pete's disgusted huff and the slam of the diner door, and he drew back. Reluctantly, mind you. If they weren't in a public place Mikey would be considering taking that further, because it was damn nice. Boy knew how to kiss. He glanced up at Ray and took in the flushed expression, the embarrassment, and inwardly cringed. Right. Fake dating. 

 

"Sorry," he said.

 

"N-no, it's okay. Pete, right? Gotta be convincing," Ray answered with a very nervous laugh. 

 

Mikey gave him a half-smile and tried not to think about kissing him again. 

 

###

 

"Bobert!"

 

"Iero- fucking monkey, get off."

 

Frank had unceremoniously launched himself into the arms of the blonde man that answered the door, and from the way Bob automatically caught him, it was a common thing between them. Gerard tried not to look too jealous, picking at a spot of red paint on his index finger. To be fair, he probably wouldn't be able to catch Frank if the cashier tried that with him. Bob seemed unperturbed by the sudden intrusion, settling Frank more comfortably on his hip and carrying him inside, leaving Gerard to follow. Frank giggled and then rubbed his forehead, residual hangover still lingering. 

 

Gerard tried not to look too concerned. The way he'd acted last night - Frank wasn't in love with Ray like that, but clearly his heart was broken a little bit. Gerard didn't know how Frank could do it every day; being with Ray every day, helping him and encouraging him and caring for him when all he got was a distracted smile and sometimes a few hours of conversation. It just... wasn't worh it, not to him. But it wasn't his decision. Anyway, he kind of understood how someone could like having their heart dragged along the asphalt every day. He'd done it himself, drinking until his head swum and his toes were numb. He wasn't going to let Frank drink himself to an early grave, though, and Frank wasn't that interested in dying anyway. 

 

"So, what do you and your new boy toy want?"

 

Gerard flushed, and Frank snorted. "He's not a boy toy, Bob. This is Gerard. Remember Elena?"

 

"The old lady?"

 

"He's her grandson."

 

"Fraternizing with the customers' family? You get sluttier every time I see you."

 

Frank swatted Bob on the head. 

 

"We need to know if she came in and ordered a flower."

 

"She always comes in and orders flowers, Frank. It's a flower shop."

 

Frank huffed, slightly frustrated. Bob gave him a tiny, amused smirk. Gerard picked at the paint on his nails some more and tried not to think about how easily they talked, what a good couple they'd make aesthetically, with Frank's dark hair and bright eyes and Bob's more Viking-esque appearance and slight smirk. It was also... the way they spoke to each other, so easy and kind of biting with wit but in an affectionate way that Gerard couldn't ever mimic. God, way too feel inadequate. He was so caught up in his despair he forgot to even listen to the conversation, the reason they were here in the first place.

 

"...I don't know anything about that," Bob was saying. "You think her ghost ordered it or some spooky shit like that? Now I'm glad I got fired."

 

Frank laughed nervously at that last comment, looked away from Bob out a nearby window. "Maybe. You believe in ghosts?"

 

"Nah."

 

"How 'bout you, Gerard Way?"

 

Gerard managed a miniscule shrug and tried not to look too freaked out by all the attention laid upon him. "I- I don't not believe in them. It's possible they're out there, y'know? I try... not to rule out the possibility in case they're really out there and not believing bites me in the ass one day." Frank nodded enthusiastically, clearly pleased by his answer. Gerard gave him a small smile in return. Bob made an expression he couldn't quite decipher, but it didn't look particularly menacing so he tried not to worry about it too much. 

 

"So, did you see her on your days?"

 

Bob frowned slightly, looked thoughtful. "I don't... think so. I mean, I haven't seen her in a while and I don't think I saw her around that time, either. The last time I saw Elena was at that closing-down sale the music store was having."

 

"That was when she bought Mikey's bass," Gerard said, any hope of Bob solving the mystery being poured down the metaphorical drain. He clearly didn't have any idea. "It was about a month before she..."

 

"Mikey plays bass? Cool." Frank tapped his fingertips against Bob's broad chest. "You're no help at all, Bobert Bryar." 

 

"Well, I'm so sorry, princess. You'll have to go find the ghostbusters instead, because I'm not fucking with any of that paranormal shit. Even if it is the ghost of an old lady."

 

"An old lady that used to feed you fresh poppyseed muffins," Frank added, crossing his arms. 

 

"And I appreciated that, but if she wants to eat souls, she isn't having mine."

 

"Fine," Frank said with a long-suffering sigh, removing himself from Bob's lap and flopping next to Gerard instead. Their elbows touched. Gerard willed himself not to look embarrassed. "Wuss."

 

"But an alive wuss," Bob answered proudly. 

 

Frank huffed. "You're literally the worst fucking help ever. You're like, the white power ranger."

 

"There is no white power ranger!"

 

"Isn't there? I thought there was one in that new- anyway, it still makes sense. You're as useless as a nonexistent power ranger."

 

"Your insults suck, Iero."

 

"Your mother sucks."

 

Frank hadn't even paused before he'd shot back with that retort, arms crossed and tongue sticking out. It was silly. Gerard giggled before he could stop himself, and then stopped immediately when he realised what he was doing. Both Frank and Bob were just looking at him blankly, probably because he was being a dork and laughing at a joke that wasn't even funny, God, what a loser. Making jokes about people's mothers wasn't funny. Parents weren't jokes, they were important. Gerard loved his mother. 

 

Then Frank broke the silene by laughing as well, and Bob joined in after a few seconds. Gerard cracked a smile and tried not to look like he was going to die of stress right here and right now. 

 

###

 

"He kissed me," Ray whined.

 

"I tried to have sex with him after getting trashed. I probably smelled like a bar, and he's all sober and sensible and shit," Frank mumbled, head in his hands. 

 

"Okay, maybe yours is worse," Ray conceded. 

 

They were sitting in the store, Frank perched on the counter and Ray sitting in the chair. Night had fallen a few hours ago, and the streets outside were empty and silent, like some supernatural being had swept every trace of life away except for the two men sitting in Pansy's Picks, lamenting on their peculiar love life. Ray had called Frank earlier, to discuss the mysterious Way flower but instead they had ended up talking about the Ways themselves. Frank pulled his hands away from his face and let his forehead thunk against the counter. Ray winced. 

 

"He didn't say he didn't want to have sex with you," Ray offered. 

 

Frank mumbled something extremely rude into the counter. 

 

"I just can't tell what's going on in Mikey's head," he continued. "Like... me, of all people?" 

 

"I'unno," came the disinterested reply.

 

"Frank, help me."

 

Frank raised his head slightly, just enough that Ray could see the glimmer from the streetlights reflected in his eyes. "Why don'tcha just ask him? Might make things quicker."

 

"I can't-"

 

Frank sighed at him and dropped his head back down with a more force this time. Ray leaned forward to gently pat at his head, and Frank let out something peculiarly similar to a purr. He was kind of like a cat, Ray supposed. He knocked things over all the time and was generally quite loud and obnoxious, and cuddled fiercely but only on his terms. Also, he drank all of the milk in the fridge out back. Definitely some sort of feline. Maybe he should buy Frank some cat ears or something for his birthday. 

 

"When his crazy ex stops annoying him and he doesn't actually need a fake boyfriend, you'll find out, won't you," Frank offered, leaning into Ray's idle petting. 

 

"...good point," Ray admitted. "But how long's that going to be?" 

 

"Well, how bad's his ex?"

 

"He's... kind of an asshole."

 

"Wow. Dick city, huh? If you're calling him an asshole it must be bad."

 

"I don't get why he has to harass Mikey even after they broke up, you know? Like, why can't he leave him alone?"

 

"Some people are weird," Frank mumbled. "Anyway, there might be more to the story than you think."

 

"Have you been watching those crime shows again?"

 

"...maybe. But I'm just saying, guys aren't normally that crazy."

 

"You might actually have a point," Ray said. 

 

"I always have a point, motherfucker."

 

"But I can't just ask him," Ray added, and Frank let out a heavy sigh. 

 

"I'm not asking Gerard." 

 

"But-"

 

"No. Gossip-free area, man. Anyway, no one wants to talk about their brother having sex with assholes."

 

"Which kind?" Ray joked without thinking. There was a long, slightly stunned silence and then Frank was bursting into helpless giggles, Ray joining in after a moment. 

 

"My God, Ray Toro, I never thought I'd hear a gutter joke from your lips," Frank said amusedly. Ray continued to laugh at his own joke like the dork he was. Man, it'd be so much easier if it was Frank instead of Mikey. Ray already knew Frank like the back of his hand, could tell his emotions and ideas through a glance. Mikey was difficult, with a poker face like Jason Vorhees' mask and the emotions to match. Did he like Ray? Who knew. It was impossible. 

 

Frank raised an eyebrow at him. "Deep thoughts, Toro?"

 

Ray sighed. "I don't get people sometimes."

 

"People are easy," Frank said, and in a peculiar show of wisdom that reminded Ray he wasn't just some punk-rocker-turned-cashier, added, "it's how you choose to interact with them that's the hard bit." Deep. Ray guessed it might've come from Frank's stoner days, actually, because it was completely out of character.

 

"Hm."

 

"I say clever things sometimes," he continued after a pause, scratching at the scorpion inked onto his skin idly. "But only sometimes. I don't have time to be smart constantly."

 

"If you didn't spend all your time worrying about cute boys you'd probably have more time to be smart."

 

"Nah, where's the fun in that?"

 

Ray refrained from snorting and turned to look outside. The street Pansy's Picks stood on wasn't anywhere near the city hub, more like it was on a network of downtown streets that looked like a collection of dark alleyways you might get mugged on. Luckily, broke college students frequented the area, and their relationship struggles were what made up more than half their revenue. Bless the college students that couldn't afford dormitory rooms. Maybe he should start offering a student discount so there'd be even more of them. 

 

"Hey, 's that your phone? Cause it's not mine," Frank asked, snapping Ray out of his business plans. He glanced around to where he'd left his hone on the corner of the desk, and sure enough, it was buzzing. He reached for it without looking at the caller ID. 

 

"Ray Toro speaking. Hello?"

 

Slightly panicked breathing came through the speaker. Ray frowned. "Is this a prank call, because I-"

 

"It's not a prank, Ray," Mikey said, his voice staticky and hurried. 

 

"Mikey? What's going on? Are you okay?"

 

"I'm fine. Just- I think someone's in the house."

 

"Gerard?"

 

"No, someone else. Like..."

 

Pete. Shit. "I'll be right over. Are you safe?"

 

"I locked myself in the basement bathroom."

 

"Okay, okay. Stay right there, call the police," Ray instructed, grabbing his keys and rushing to the door, Frank right behind him. 

 

"Please hurry," Mikey said, his tone flat as ever, and yet Ray could still tell he was scared. 


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note:_

Someone said to me the other day, "where are the other bands??? What are they doing in this world?"

1\. Canonically in this verse, Patrick is a lowly desk clerk at the local police statement who has to deal with Pete on a constant basis. He is tired. 

2\. Ryan Ross and Jon Walker are in a business together. Jon is mostly there to steal weeds (literal weeds, not marijuana) and he grows them instead of real flowers. Ryan is not amused. 

 

###

 

 

Mikey was in deep shit. 

 

Not just knee-deep shit, mind you, but quicksand-imitating, putrid, neck-high shit. The kind that you can still smell even after washing fifteen times in boiling hot water that leaves your skin searing and pink even an hour later. He was in deep, _deep_ shit and all he could do was stay in this tiny en suite with the grey walls and hope like Hell that no one would think to look for him there. He glanced to the side and noticed Gerard's handwriting. Had his brother been scribbling on the wall again? He squinted at it and eventually it formed into words, a phrase that made Mikey snort softly. 

 

Desolation Row, huh? That song was getting old now. But so were all the classics. He let out a shaky breath through his nose as footsteps sounded on the concrete stairs to the basement and started reciting the lyrics in his head, mouthing the words. He'd only gotten to _Cinderella, she seems so easy_ when the footsteps made it into the main room. Oh, fuck. 

 

His hand clenched tightly on his phone, the case creaking a little bit. If it cracked and made a huge, ridiculous noise - well, he was fucked. Not that he wasn't fucked anyway, but still. The phone didn't crack, but he still heard footsteps coming in his direction. He held his breath, but the footsteps stopped suddenly befote they got to the bathroom door. What had slowed them down? All that was down here were all of Gerard's old paintings. Mikey had insisted on keeping them all when they moved - even the half-finished, angry pieces he'd done when he went to college. Mikey treasured them all, just like he treasured his dumbass of a brother, and he was so thankful that Gerard wasn't home. He'd gone to the art gallery because the owner wanted him to host some drawing classes. 

 

The footsteps started up again and Mikey dropped his phone, silently ran his empty hand over the tiles in the hope there'd be something, anything he could use for self defence. Even a comb would be great at this point; he could stab the end into his attacker's eye. His fingers closed around something rough and he looked down to find a tattered copy of a Shakespeare play with zombies scribbled on it. Good enough. He picked it up and thanked the stars that it was pitch black and the guy probably couldn't see him, and stuck his leg out as the figure entered, tripping them. 

 

He lifted the book to brain the guy and probably break a few ribs (it was a heavy book and maybe he was a little excited, okay?) but then the figure let out a familiar whine of pain and Mikey stopped. 

 

" _Gerard_?"

 

"Mikey... thought you were upstairs," Gerard wheezed. 

 

"...nope," Mikey replied. "That would be the person that broke in."

 

"Oh." A pause. "Wait, are we being robbed?" 

 

"Maybe. Might be Pete, though."

 

Gerard sat up somewhat painfully and Mikey felt guilty immediately, though he didn't show it. His brother glanced out into the basement warily, hair still visible even in the darkness. Mikey shuffled back a little so he wasn't in the doorway in plain sight. Gerard turned his head back towards him and it felt kind of like he was frowning, even though Mikey couldn't see it. 

 

"Is Pete that crazy, Mikes?" His eyes were wide.

 

"I hope not."

 

This was all his fault. _Jesus_. And now Gerard could be in danger, too. Maybe he shouldn't have moved in, in the first place - he could've just gone to college and had a dorm, gone to keg parties and played it safe doing weird drugs like the kind from Jump Street. People could get hurt and it was all his fault for being so stupid, for having these relationships he couldn't handle. He made a distressed noise and hid his face in his hands. Fuck everything.

 

Gerard shuffled in next to him, toeing the bathroom door shut as he did. He nudged Mikey over so he was closer to the door - he'd be in the way if it was Pete, goddamn him for trying to be a hero. A warm arm settled on his shoulders, and Mikey scrunched his eyes shut tightly. 

 

"If you cry, I'll cry too," Gerard said, sounding like he was joking even though Mikey knew he wasn't. Empathy was taken to a whole new level with Gerard Way around. 

 

"I'm not crying," Mikey said after a pause. 

 

"Good. Because if you did- well, the tissues are upstairs."

 

He refrained from laughing but couldn't help the twitch of his lips, which was good enough for Gerard anyway. "I have bad taste in men."

 

"Honey, I've been telling you that for years," Gerard said with a sigh, flapping his hand. 

 

"Stop the prissy housewife impression or I'll throw you to the burglar."

 

Gerard sniffed. "Maybe I am a prissy housewife." 

 

"I'll make sure to let Frank know he needs to buy you shoes and a maid to scream at."

 

"Can I be a _nice_ prissy housewife?"

 

"That's boring, Gee."

 

"Yeah, but..."

 

"You're too nice to be a prissy housewife."

 

"I honestly can't tell if that's a compliment or not."

 

Mikey shrugged, and if he snuggled a little closer to his brother in the process, so what. He was warm. Maybe the robber/Pete/intruder would just take their coin jar and leave. Maybe they'd steal Gee's art and sell it on the black market. That'd be pretty awesome. Maybe they should sell his art on the black market.

 

_It'll be fine_ , he told himself. Ray's coming to help. 

 

###

 

"That is most certainly not the speed limit, Raymond," Frank said reproachfully.

 

Ray didn't actually answer him, didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoke, and Frank frowned. At least they were in an area where the cops mostly just sat in their offices and drank copious amounts of coffee. But Ray was going to break his fingers or something, clenching the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were almost protruding from the skin. Frank closed his eyes in the hopes it'd do something, felt a wave of nausea, and opened them again. Hopefully this was all nothing. Maybe it was an overeager mailman, or Gerard coming home- 

 

Oh god. What if Gerard came in and got attacked by crazy Pete? Shit. Fuck. 

 

"Go faster," Frank said hurriedly, changing his mind about the road rules in the space of that one thought. Ray ignored him this time, too, and Frank started thinking about whether they had any weapons in here. It was Ray's car, but Frank was in here often enough that he knew there were only used tissues and a couple of batteries in the backseat. Maybe the boot had something? He wracked his brains. Mulch? Maybe a spade? Frank was creative, but he didn't think using a spade for self-defense was a very good (or smart) plan. What if Pete had a _gun_? 

 

"This is bad," Frank muttered to himself, pressing his face against the cool window to watch houses zip past.  Ray made an affirming noise, and wow, he actually _was_ listening. 

 

_Why didn't we just call the police_ , he thought dismally. That'd be the proper thing to do. Although lately the police didn't seem to be helping anyone with anything. At least the police knew self defense. Frank knew how to mosh, he knew how to poke a homophobic asshole in the stomach and/or groin with his keys, but this was way over his head. 

 

He side-eyed Ray. Mikey Way must be pretty damn special to have him running in like this. Frank's pretty sure if someone had broken into his house, Ray would've just told him to call the police instead. And then he'd go and water his flowers. 

 

Frank sighed. 

 

Ray stopped the car and got out without turning the engine off. Frank watched him for a minute, still grumpy, and then turned off the car and got out. He shoved the keys in his back pocket and entered the unlit house, anxiety creeping up his spine. Ray was a few steps ahead, looking up the stairs. Frank noticed a dismantled curtain pole and grabbed it, for reassurance more than anything. 

 

"Should we check-" he started, but Ray interrupted him. 

 

"I'll check here, you go upstairs."

 

" _Yessir_ ," Frank said, but Ray had already walked away. 

 

He let out a heavy sigh and started up the stairs, glancing around in case someone was lying in wait to attack him. It was too risky to turn on a light, but the gloom was freaking him out as well. He made it to the top of the stairs and strained his ears for movement, didn't come up with anything. Maybe the intruder had left? He was still keeping the pole, though. 

 

Hm. Who's bedroom was this? He pushed the ajar door open fully and squinted. Mikey and Gerard lived alone, as far as he knew, and Gerard's room was down the hallway. So... Mikey's room. He stepped inside and flicked the lava lamp on. Man, who knew Mikey Way was a dork who liked lava lamps. The room was pretty bare apart from that, a stray band tee on the floor, a pink sock in the corner. The lava lamp didn't help his sight that much, but it let him see enough that his gaze went to the mirror near the window, and the words written on it. 

 

"Fuck me," he said softly, looking at the **WHORE** written on it in marker. Cliche, much? This guy needed to... chill, honestly. "Stupid."

 

That was when something hard hit the back of his head and Frank fell, trying to twist around as he did. He saw dark hair, a scowl, and cringed as his ankle twinged painfully. 

 

"I'm too gorgeous to be killed by a yandere wannabe," Frank joked, eyes fixed on the crowbar in Pete's hand. This was so not funny. 

 

"Who are you?" Pete's face scrunched up. "Don't tell me he's sleeping with _you_ as well as that afro freak."

 

At that point, Frank got angry. "Hey, fuck you, he's not a freak." 

 

The crowbar was pressed against his throat and Frank tried to stop breathing. It didn't work, obviously, but he flattened himself against the floor and it helped him breathe a little more. Then Pete pressed the cold metal down more, and he coughed. 

 

"You don't fuck with him anymore," Pete hissed. "You won't be fucking with anyone anymore."

 

"I- I don-" Frank wheezed. 

 

"He's mine, you hear me, fucker?" Pete shouted, and Frank tried to push him off, felt around for his curtain pole and realised he'd dropped it somewhere when Pete had hit him the first time. He grabbed Pete's hair and yanked, hard, and Pete swore but didn't let up, and Frank's vision was starting to get staticky and he thought, _oh, fuck me, I don't want to die because of someone's else's crazy ex._

 

He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the thunk, and then something heavy and bony fell on him. He refrained from squealing and pushed it off. What the fuck. Was crazy Pete trying to suffocate him now? 

 

Wait. 

 

He blinked his eyes open to a silhouette standing over him (and Pete's  unconscious body). "...Ray?"

 

"Not quite," Mikey said drily, hefting the curtain pole over his shoulder.  Frank stared. And then frowned at Ray and Gerard, peeking around the corner of the door. 

 

###

 

"What happened to being the almighty _hero_ ," Frank said, sarcasm dripping from every word. Gerard glanced up from where he was applying ice -well, half-melted frozen peas, but close enough - to the swelling on Frank's ankle. It looked painful. He then snuck a glance at Ray, who looked vaguely puzzled. Man, he really was oblivious. He could understand why Frank was frustrated. And yet... tension. Yikes. Frank's glare wasn't even focused on him and he wanted to run to the hills. Gerard moved Frank's hand so he was holding the ice instead and stood up. 

 

"I'm going to check on Mikey," he explained as he was eyed off as well, although it wasn't too nasty. 

 

"Hmph."

 

"I'll put the kettle on and make coffee as well?" He got an approving nod at that, and fled the room. That tension was way too much for him. Jesus lord. He pushed his fringe off of his forehead and went out the back, to where Mikey was sitting on the grass. There was some dew when he sat down, and Gerard realised it was morning. Well, it was still dark, but the clock would be in the AMs. 

 

"You okay?"

 

Mikey didn't look at him. "I guess."

 

"We'll get a restraining order, he's being locked up for now - it'll be okay," Gerard said comfortingly, wrapping an arm around his bony shoulders. Mikey continued staring at the beetle making his way up a blade of grass. And that was when Gerard thought... maybe Pete showing up wasn't all of the problem. 

 

"You like Ray," he said. 

 

"What are we doing, Gee? You saw Frank and Ray together," Mikey replied. "Frank... likes Ray."

 

"Frank likes Ray, but I don't know if he like-likes Ray," Gerard said doubtfully. 

 

"What is he does?"

 

"Why would he be going out with me if he liked Ray?"

 

"I don't know," Mikey said, picking at a hole in his jeans. 

 

"I don't think anyone infatuated with Ray would be chewing him out for being a coward," he said, tapping his already-cold fingers against his jeans. 

 

"I don't know," Mikey repeated, and despite himself Gerard felt a little bit of anxiety. He got up off the grass and walked back into the house, grimacing at his damp jeans. He went into the kitchen first, turning on the kettle and leaning against the counter. Ugh. Today had been too much. At least they'd solved the Pete problem, right? Right? 

 

He slid to the floor and refrained from sighing. This was all so confusing. 

 

Gerard barely noticed Ray come in and sit next to him. Or, he wouldn't have noticed, except there was hair tickling his ear. He turned slightly. Ray looked embarrassed and kind of confused still - although that may have just been his default expression. Gerard just sighed again. 

 

"He keeps swearing at me in Italian," Ray said after a moment. 

 

"Well, I mean, I understand _why_ ," Gerard replied, not looking at Ray. 

 

"Huh? You do?"

 

Gerard refrained from throwing a mug at his head. It'd probably just bounce off his afro anyway. They'd just left Frank alone to stew in his anger as well - he'd probably be more mad once someone returned. Which was... well, fair enough. 

 

"What's going on with Frank?"

 

Gerard waved a hand in the air. "That's for you to ask Frank. Or to figure out yourself, even better." Maybe he was being kind of mean, but he wasn't sure about Ray at all, really. What if Frank did like Ray that way? But... but he'd seemed so genuinely interested in Gerard. There wouldn't be any point in asking Ray, he wouldn't know if Frank got on his knees and threw flowers at him. He didn't see Ray move from the corner of his eye, and when the kettle made an unholy screech he got up off the floor and poured four cups automatically. There was a bottle of soy milk in the fridge, so he used that, not worrying about putting it in his own cup. He left Mikey and Ray's cups on the counter and wandered down the hall where they'd left Frank. 

 

Thing was, he wasn't there. Gerard stood stock-still for a moment, puzzled. Had he gone home? No, that was Ray's car out the front and anyway, he couldn't drive with his ankle like that. On a hunch, he turned and made his way up the stairs. 

 

Sure enough, Frank was huddled in Gerard's room, a stained sketchbook in his hands. He was lying on his side, flicking through the pages slowly, like he was really taking in the zombies and the blood. Gerard entered the room and set the coffees down on the bedside table. Frank didn't say anything as he toed off his boots and sat on the bed, just continued looking. Gerard couldn't find the words he wanted to say, felt them stick at the back of his throat even though in his mind he knew what they were: 

 

_Are you in love with Ray?_

 

"All these pictures of superheroes and your brother was the one who rescued me." 

 

"I'm sorry," Gerard said automatically, but what? Frank was mad that _he_ didn't save him too? 

 

Frank glanced over his shoulder. "Lay down. Don't loom over me like that, it's creepy."

 

Gerard laid down. 

 

"I like this," Frank commented, fingertips brushing over a skeletal marching band covered in soot and what Gerard always thought of as despair. "Think we could make the jackets?"

 

"I..." 

 

"We'll think about it in the morning," Frank decided, dog-earing the page and setting the book down. "Now come here, I'm cold." 

 

"Okay," Gerard said, voice barely audible. Frank shuffled around until they were closer and then he sighed. 

 

###

 

Ray didn't get it. 

 

Why was Frank so mad at him? No one could have predicted that creepy Pete Wentz was hiding in Mikey's room, writing slurs on his mirror like a teenage girl. Ray had found the Way brothers in the basement, Mikey almost kicking him when he descended the stairs. Gerard had just looked at him with worried eyes and asked where Frank was. And Ray had said upstairs, I dunno. Then he'd gotten that look from Gerard, the one he'd been given when he asked what had upset Frank. It was a weird expression, because he hadn't frowned or smiled or anything obvious, there was just this... look in his eyes that meant something. Ray didn't know what. It had something to do with Frank, though.

 

Frank. 

 

Yeah, he didn't get it. 

 

Ray was interrupted from his swirl of thoughts by Mikey's footsteps echoing on the tiles. He watched as Mikey crossed to where the coffee was, picking up a mug with a badly-drawn cow on the side and taking a sip. He didn't say anything, so Ray didn't say anything, casting his eyes down to the beige tiles. Come to think of it, the expression Gerard had looked like most of Mikey's - only ever reaching his eyes. Hell, maybe Gerard had been the one to teach him that.

 

Mikey's footsteps started again, walking away, and Ray resisted the urge to follow him, to ask what now? Because - well, if Pete was gone... what did they do _now_? 

 

"You can sleep here if you want," Mikey said in a flat tone before he turned the corner and went out of sight. Ray wondered if Frank was going to sleep here. Did they have a spare room? Was he supposed to sleep on the couch? They probably had a spare room, right? 

 

He got up, ignoring the single lonely cup of coffee still emitting wisps of steam, and made his way down the hall. There was an old photograph there, of an older woman and two boys grinning at the camera. Gerard was barely recognisable through the scruff of dark hair covering his eyes, and Mikey... had Ray ever see him smile like that in real life? No. Elena was hugging the Way brothers tightly, her smile even brighter than theirs, kind of reminding him of the first time Frank had kept a plant alive by himself, that look what I made, isn't it great face. It was... _cute_. Ray couldn't remember the last time he'd had a happy family photo. 

 

He sighed and turned away from the staircase leading up to the bedrooms, pulled his car keys out his pocket and looked at them. Yeah... he was out of here. Boys were confusing. Maybe he'd just make only girl friends from now on. Or maybe it was just the people he hung out with. 

 

Somehow during the driving and static on the radio (he'd never bothered to tune it in the two years he'd owned it) he ended up at Pansy's Picks again. Ray got out the car and unlocked it in silence, glad that the shop was in an area where everyone couldn't be bothered stealing. He'd left the lights on when he ran out, so he didn't have to bother turning them on.

 

Ray sat down at the computer and avoided his own gaze in the computer screen. Was tomorrow Frank's day off? Would he skip coming to work anyway? It was three am right now. And... Mikey. Mikey wouldn't come anymore - he'd just come as a trade for Ray helping out Pete. So... he probably wouldn't be coming in again. In a way, Ray was kind of... well, disappointed. They'd have to post ads for a new person to replace Bob. 

 

Ugh. 

 

Ray pressed his face against the cool keyboard. It didn't help his stress, but it felt nice enough. That is, until the computer woke up from sleep and decided to beep at him. Ray groaned at it, but the computer didn't care about his mental struggles and continued to ping happily. He raised his head wearily and squinted at the too-bright screen. 

 

"Dear Pansy's Picks Belleville Manager Ray Toro," it read. 

 

"Your request order #38475 has been processed and the object has been brought over from its native country. As it is a rather large and difficult to find plant to order, it has taken longer than normal for the shipping service to get back to us. It is now in our warehouse in the north of New Jersey. We apologise severely for the wait but assure both yourself and the customer that it is being cared for - my business partner has taken it under his wing and is checking on it every day. He has much respect for such a specimen, unlike myself. Does the owner of the order [ACC #429, FIRST NAME: ELENA] still wish for the order to go through? We can ship the plant and have it arrive at your store the day after tomorrow, if that is satifactory. Please let us know. 

 

G.R. Ross Junior, Head of Shipping at the PP Franchise." 

 

Ray sighed. 

 

"Hello, Mr Ross, 

That would be fine. Much appreciated. Is order #39001 being processed currently? We had a power outage while it was sending. 

Thank you, Ray Toro."

 

###

 

Frank woke up with a start when something warm and soft fell against the side of his ribs. Fuck, they must have gotten bruised when he'd been attacked. He squinted at the clock, registering it was five am and he'd only gotten two hours of sleep. Gross. He then surveyed what had landed on his side and realised it was an arm. Gerard's fingers twitched where they were, tips brushing the skin where Frank's shirt had ridden up. It tickled, so Frank wriggled back against Gerard, away from his fingers.

 

Surprisingly, that strategy worked. That is, until Gerard breathed out and his warm breath tickled Frank's _neck_ instead. He grimaced. Despite Pete's attack lasting maybe five minutes, his whole body _ached_ from it and being tired didn't help. Gerard made a snuffling noise and his hand was against Frank's stomach again, although tighter, so it didn't tickle so much this time. He refrained from elbowing his sleeping - boyfriend? Artist? Why was Gerard his, anyway? - and resigned himself to the fact he was at this moment, basically a live teddy bear. 

 

Gerard made a small, frightened noise and his blunt nails dug into Frank's stomach. Bad dream, probably, which didn't help the fact his internal organs were being poked. Frank twisted around in the half an inch of space he had and blinked at Gerard's face. Did he have to be so damn pretty, even with a frown creasing his face and those tiny scared noises breaking up the morning silence. Frank didn't know how to deal with bad dreams, so he just held Gerard's hand tightly and shook him a little. Wait, you weren't supposed to wake someone up when they were having a nightmare, were you? 

 

Gerard's eyes flicked open suddenly, making Frank flinch away. Christ, that was freaky. After a moment, he seemed to remember where he was, and glanced down at where Frank and his fingers were laced together. 

 

"I'm sorry," he croaked, and Frank frowned. 

 

"For what?"

 

Gerard's hand unhooked itself from Frank's and he curled in on himself a little, still out of it from whatever he'd been dreaming about. Frank frowned at him, but it still took a few minutes of loaded silence before Gerard actually spoke. 

 

"I... you don't want..."

 

"Don't want wh-" _oh_. The hand holding. "I know we haven't talked about it explicitly, but..." 

 

"But you like Ray," Gerard stressed, pressing his face into the pillows so only a tuft of hair was visible from where Frank was laying. 

 

"I- you think I- what?" Frank stared at the top of Gerard's head in shocked silence, and then started giggling hysterically. He kept laughing until he was struggling to breathe, and his lungs felt like they were crumpling in his ribcage. "You think I'm in love with him?"

 

Half of Gerard's face appeared from behind a grey pillow with a llama depicted on it. "You're... not?"

 

"Fuck no, I'm not that dumb," Frank replied vehemently. "Wait. If you thought I was in love with Ray, why did you...?"

 

He could barely make out the weak smile. "Mikey was worried. He... I guess I got caught up in it...? You are kind of into him."

 

"If I was into him I wouldn't be in your damn bed, you idiot." Him. And... Ray? 

 

"So I'm not your replacement Ray?"

 

"Ugh," Frank groaned. "No. You are not a replacement Ray. You would make a terrible replacement Ray."

 

Gerard looked slightly offended, sitting up a little. "Why?"

 

"You pay attention to me," Frank answered, half joking and half bitter. Gerard just looked like he'd seen an adorable baby animal and slid closer to Frank again, put his arm over Frank's side cautiously. He was so nervous when he was awake. It was... cute. Frank leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose and then laughed at the expression it got. 

 

"I'm sure Ray pays plenty of attention to you, but I'm cuter than he is."

 

Frank snorted. "The narcissism in this one is strong." 

 

"Mm," Gerard mumbled in agreement. "You wanna try making those zombie jackets in the morning?"

 

"Can you sew?"

 

"No. Can you?"

 

"No. But you have to do it anyway, as repayment for yesterday." 

 

"Repayment... for?"

 

"It's kind of demeaning when you have to be rescued by your boyfriend's brother," Frank said, blatantly honest. Because it really was, and it did hurt a little. From both Gerard and Ray. Ray had practically flown over here to rescue Mikey and sweep him off his feet - and wouldn't even step in to help Frank when he was about to have his ass kicked by Crazy Pete. He was a little less pissed with Gerard, who wasn't pretending to be a hero, but he still would've appreciated at least trying. Mikey probably hated Frank if he thought that Frank liked Ray, and he was still Frank's rescuer. 

 

"I'm sorry," Gerard said. "I didn't know what had happened, and I froze up." 

 

"...it's okay," Frank replied, snuggling closer to Gerard to steal his body heat. Boy was like a furnace. 

 

"Do you forgive me?"

 

"Make those jackets and breakfast in the morning and I'll think about it."

 

"Deal," Gerard said, sounding so ridiculously happy that Frank had to hide his own smile in the bedcovers. 


End file.
